prompt stringlengths 20 2.57k | chosen_story stringlengths 227 9.4k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.42k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 10:35:40 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 10.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] "What do you mean the robbers ADDED $4,000,000 to the vault?" | "Wait, what do you mean we're going to ADD $4,000,000 to the vault?"
"That was the boss's orders."
"That makes no sense. Why would someone risk jail to *lose* money?"
"Don't know, don't care. That's what he's paying us for, so I'm doing what I'm told and getting the fuck out of here. Now get to work."
"All right... all right... no need to get angry. It's just... I always knew the man was weird, but *damn*."
 
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"Boss, it's done."
"Yeah, someone out there is $4,000,000 richer than last night... for some reason."
"*Some reason*? You think I'm crazy, don't you?"
"That's not what he meant, boss, he's new, doesn't know what he's..."
"Look, it's just that... it's your money and all, but why would anyone ever break into a vault to put *more* money in it? If you don't want it, you could just give it to me - no need to break into anything."
"...why? You mean you *don't know* why I sent you there? Don't you ever read the newspapers?"
"What? I don't get it."
"You idiot! Look at this!"
"What? 'The world's largest money vault'? What does that have to do with anything? Why does it matter to you that some vault has more money than others?"
"THE NUMBER! LOOK AT THE NUMBER! HOW MUCH MONEY WAS THERE IN THE VAULT?"
"What? Let me... no... no way..."
"Now you see why I had you do it?"
"You don't mean to tell me..."
"Exactly $999,999,996,000,000. How could I-- how could *anyone* leave it like that?"
"...I don't believe it."
 
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Yeah, I don't usually write anything here, but the idea popped into my head as soon as I saw the prompt, so I thought - why not?
Also decided to experiment a bit, working only on dialogue - I hope I managed to keep the characters distinct enough it won't be a problem.
| "Why? Why would they do this?" Bank manager Chancellor Banks Pennyworth looked into the vault. The formerly empty tables used to count dollars were stacked up high with neatly folded bills. Chancellor watched his staff count and keep counting. "What's the tally, Miranda?"
A small, mousy woman looked over at Chancellor, a fist full of dollars and sheepishly grinned, "Chance, we're up to 3,356,973 and still going."
The bank manager just shook his head. This was bad news, really bad news. He had heard talk of them taking their revenge, but he didn't know it would happen this way, he hadn't known. He needed to call headquarters.
_______________________________________________________________
"Excuse me? This is Mr. Pennyworth from the Arizona branch, I need to speak to Jim." Chance was sweating in his office. His staff has tallied it up to a total of $4,000,000 in crisp, clean $100 bills. No bank was reporting the loss of that much capital and it was a mystery where it came from. The police had found zero trace of the criminals, other than the fact there was an extra four million in unaccounted funds in the bank's vault. The crime had been perfect. Chance could have lost it all, but instead, he'd gained a fortune.
"Yes Chance." A calm, quiet voice said on the other end of the line. It was a voice Chance knew well. The voice had trained him and taught him all he knew.
"Dad, listen dad, we're in big trouble. They've struck my branch. We've got to do something."
"Chance, calm down son. Tell me what happened."
So Chance went through it all, he talked about the extra four million, the lack of knowledge of where it had come from and the fact that the police had begun talking about an inside job. It was right then Chance heard his computer make that annoying ding sound to indicate a new email. He thought he had turned it off. In fact, he knew he had.
"Hold on, Dad, there is a message I must see. It's from an Anon and the subject line says," Chance sucked in a breath, "Oh my God."
The subject line said in clear letters **It's time to pay**. That's it, but the meat of the message appeared inside. It laid out the bank's fear.
*You thought you could get away with it. You thought you could save yourself from the damage you caused. It's impossible. This is our first strike, our first test. Right now the police are at your door, they're coming to take you in. The first people they'll call will put you under. An extra $4,000,000 you can't account for? They'll never believe someone came in and place it there. You'll pay. You'll go to jail, and we'll get revenge for the damage you caused.*
"Read it to me son, read it to me."
Chance shared the message with his father. He paused as he got to end, sighing a bit at the signature.
*Signed, the people affected by the 2008 financial crisis. Spend some time in the hell you gave us. Spend some time in prison*
| 2016-02-24T12:57:45 | 2016-02-24T12:26:07 | 221 | 38 |
[WP] A new rule on Earth is made which allows everyone to legally kill 1 person in their life, this affects the world severely & changes how everybody acts. | **DISCLAIMER: First time commenting, so I hope I have done this properly.**
"So, have you used yours yet?"
It was the question that was on everyone's minds since the Law was introduced. Death and murder had left the realms of impolite conversation, ushering in a new type of small-talk that was, in essence, macabre. You could sit in even the quietest of restaurants and hear the Question over a dozen times through your meal. My record was 23 times in, perhaps, twice as many minutes. An impressive amount, I thought, but nothing to brag about.
Of course, no one really bragged about anything anymore. Everyone was too scared, too worried that their swagger would provoke others to use the Law. The same had happened with almost all conversation, really. Everyone was polite, everyone was nice, and, most of all, everyone was quiet. It was a remarkable transformation from the busy, bustling society I had known all my life; in just a few months, the Law had created a world walking on egg-shells.
Except for the Question. No one shied away from it, no one blanched at it. Some even asked it with an excited grin, full of glee at the prospect of finding out someone's Silence. Some still saw any answer other than 'No' as an excuse to return to old habits, though many found themselves Silenced soon enough.
The first months of the Law had been complete and utter chaos. Old rivalries, feuds and petty squabbles were settled with a Silence, and the world was overcome with an unbounded paranoia. Homelessness was all but eradicated as Silences were used to 'clean the streets'. The gay community was near wiped out by the end of the second month. The entire world was caught in the cold, vice-like grip of fear.
Not even world leaders were above the Law's reach, and by the end of the first month we were looking at a completely new global political stage. By the second month we were looking at an even newer one. Constant change became the norm as the old order was Silenced by the new, and the new Silenced by the newer.
Even in the politeness and the cautiousness that followed, that chaos persists. The wealthy, for all their pomp and bought security, are Silenced almost daily, while the poor are Silenced for the simple fact of their existence. It is the elderly, surprisingly, who use their Silence the most, Silencing people almost arbitrarily so as not to waste the opportunity granted by the Law. Just the other day, in fact, I witnessed an old woman, clad in a thick tweed overcoat with an even thicker tartan scarf wrapped around her gaunt throat, Silence a man on the bus for refusing to give up his seat. He was disabled.
The newspapers are all saying the same thing now; the Law is growing out of control. People are seeing through the niceties of polite society that the Law had created, and using their Silence simply because they can. Chaos is coming back, and with it the deaths will rise.
If you are reading this, I have been Silenced. I have known it would come eventually. A stranger, a friend, a lover, an old woman on the bus. The Law has made killers of us all, and I can only hope that, in reading this, you see the Law as only a distant memory.
And if not, if the Law still exists, if Silence still rules the world, I ask you; have you used yours yet? | Who is that shivering man on the street?
That woman who's pleading for something to eat?
That beggar whose pungency left you annoyed?
Anonymous people we _used_ to avoid.
If life were a stage, they would merely be props,
Something to look at, to pick up then drop.
Yet now they can murder with nothing amiss.
We treat them much better, but realise this:
Without the rule, nothing would change; if they choose,
These people could kill you; they've little to lose.
But what they have gained from it, don't you mishear,
Is really _respect_ and not simply our fear.
By forcing us now to sit up and take note
Of our treatment of them, by the knives at our throat,
Some doorways are closed, but we've opened our eyes
For death shows the value of _all_ of our lives.
How warm was the winter, compared to our hearts!
Before we were given this chance to restart.
We'll care for each other, amend all our ways,
For only our darkness need perish today. | 2017-12-03T07:22:49 | 2017-12-03T06:52:52 | 7,256 | 754 |
[WP] You've died and are now spectating the last human on Earth. Everyone is anxiously awaiting the Great Respawn, but this jackass just won't die! | "What's the U-clock at now?" I asked, grabbing another stim drink from the dispenser.
"1.9," Perzy replied, rubbing his eyes.
"1.9e14?"
"Nope, *e20*."
I nearly spewed my drink. "Holy shit, is there anything left? What the hell is he *doing* in there?"
"It doesn't matter, the run doesn't stop until he dies. I'll query a status summary though if you'd like," he offered.
"Please."
This VU was the biggest we'd ever used, complete with a 15-gigaparsec horizon, sub-femtometer resolution observability and, most importantly, *full immersion*. When you jacked into this VU you lost *everything*--your name, your personality, your whole history--and became a human zygote, growing and developing and headed for a world so richly detailed that you'd never guess it was a Virtual Universe.
There were 37 of us sharing the VU simultaneously, each of us experiencing a few lifetimes, then taking a quick break and diving back in. With most of us inside at the same time, the VU had to manage all our experiences *and* all their interactions, as well as all the simulated humanity that interacted with us. Its workload grew exponentially as the simulated population grew from a few hundred to over 12 billion, with a commensurate increase in the required simulation time. Though the slowdown was of course imperceptible from inside, the VU dropped to about a year per minute at its slowest, with the 21st century CE taking almost an hour to run.
Then the VU introduced the Cataclysm to wind things up, so all the liferuns would end and we could restart the VU with new priors--but Qarzo's avatar had survived, and he was still jacked in and simming away.
With no other sentients remaining in the VU, the workload had dropped to almost nothing and the sim speed had jumped exponentially. Whenever this happens it usually brings a quick end to the run, with the last survivor popping out after a few seconds of hyper-accelerated solipsism, with apocalyptic tales worthy of several rounds of free drinks.
But that hadn't happened this time. Qarzo had now experienced nearly 190 *quintillion* years in the VU.
"Okay, here it is," Perzy reported. "Looks like Qarzo was just near enough to the 'clysm point to survive it, and his in-VU persona had the right mix of intellect and survival instinct to marshal the available AI resources and devote them to keeping him alive.
"He's currently in a single-passenger life support pod the size of a planet, protected from any and all hazardous radiation, and centered in a void that far exceeds the VU diameter.
"So the VU is *empty*?" I gasped.
"Yep, except for Qarzo's pod. And he's in some kind of extremely advanced suspension--almost at the level of our *real* cryotech. The only activity in the VU is the occasional nuclear decay, and the nanoconstructor activity to repair any damage caused by it. That's why the sim factor is so high now."
"How long can he go like this?"
"Qarzo? By this time tomorrow he could be at e40--maybe e50. It's just going to keep running faster and faster as the residual background radiation fades to black, and the VU concentrates all its resource on simming his little pod and its work."
I groaned. "Its work? Is the pod doing anything besides keeping his avatar's body viable?"
Perzy examined the summary. "Hmm--yes, he's tasked it with trying to find a way to reboot the Universe."
"From the *inside*?"
"Of course. Remember, he's not aware that he's in a VU. He thinks he's the Last Man Standing--or thought so before he went to sleep--and he wants to wake up with the knowledge of how to change that."
"Wow," was all I could think of to say. "I've never seen *that* before in one of these. He'll be drinking free for quite a while off *this* little adventure."
A moment later, something happened. "It's done!" Perzy said, obviously surprised.
"What happened?" I asked. "Did Qarzo die in suspension?"
"It doesn't appear that he died at *all*," Perzy said, still absorbing the output and looking more than a little shaken. Beyond him, I saw Qarzo stir, then stand up and remove his umbilicus.
"*Finally*, 'Zo!" I chided. "So, did you learn how to reboot the Cosmos?"
Qarzo smiled. "Yes, actually, I did."
And the world went white. | “Oh my god,” Jessica said. I knew exactly what she wanted, and I accepted her bait. Sometimes you just have to humor your loved one.
“What?”
“Brian, look at what he’s eating! Ewwwww. That’s *so* disgusting. Oh, wow. Look at those intestines. I’m going to throw up. Are you looking at this, honey?”
“Uh huh,” I said, nodding in the affirmative. I wasn’t though. It was pretty obvious, considering I was sitting on the couch several feet away from my telescope.
“Brian, you aren’t even looking. Your telescope is over here.” Jessica had her hands on her hips. Her eyes threw daggers through the void that hit me directly in the face. I winced.
“Sorry, Jess, sorry.” I forced myself to stand up and walk over to where the two telescopes were oriented. I looked down at him through my telescope. Mike ate raw meat from the body of a dead pig that was covered in cockroaches. “Yup, pretty disgusting.” *Jesus, Mike. Could you make worse dietary choices?*
“Ugh, Brian, can’t you even feign interest? I know you never look at him anymore. Don’t you want this fucker to die so that we can live again?”
“Of course, honey.”
“But all you do is sit on that stupid couch,” Jessica groaned. I did a full 360 of our surroundings. There were two telescopes. There was the couch. There was blackness.
“I’m not sure where else I’m supposed to sit, Jess,” I said with a shrug. Jess sighed.
“All right. Maybe I’m being unfair. Although also, maybe I’m not. It’s just that, I want you to care, you know? And your first reaction should be to worry about me when I tell you that I’m going to throw up.”
“But you can’t throw up in the afterlife,” I said.
“Well, that’s hardly the point, is it?” Jessica walked over to the couch and laid herself horizontally, filling every crevice of our only place of leisure.
“Fine, you want me to watch Mike? I can watch Mike. Look. Here I go.” I peered through the telescope.
Since I had last checked in, Mike had gotten dangerously skinny. *Yikes. It’s worse than I realized.* He was really dirty. Bald. Old, almost. His wrinkles made him look 75, although he was only 46, by my previous estimates, when I used to watch him constantly. Huge bags found their permanent home under his eyes, and his back hunched from the weight of his pack as he wandered through the endless, empty wasteland. Death was all around him, and I could feel the heaviness of his being. There was nobody lonelier in the entire world, alive or dead. I glanced back at Jessica, who seemed to be dozing on the couch. Back to the telescope. I needed to show her that I was making an effort. As I watched, Mike drank unfiltered water out of a pitiful, polluted stream. “Seriously though, if this guy was playing Oregon Trail, he would have died of dysentery like 12 times by now,” I said. Jessica sat up.
“I fucking know, right? The man hasn’t drank clean water in like 4 months,” Jessica said, shaking her head.
“Drunk?”
“Huh?”
“I think it's drunk, not drank.”
“Shut up, Brian.” I looked back into the telescope. Mike was moving along a precipitous ledge, several hundred feet above the ground. As he moved, rocks slipped off the edge, hurtling towards the ground in a rage. Mike’s foot slipped momentarily, but he regained his footing. *Oh, shit.*
“I swear he teases us sometimes,” I said.
“Yeah,” Jessica said, clearly back to falling asleep on the couch. She was great at falling asleep quickly.
Suddenly, Mike slipped. His left leg went over the ledge first. My heart skipped. The rest of Mike’s body would surely follow, and the end would arrive, I was sure. But as his butt hit the ground, he twisted. Mike’s pack snagged onto a branch just above the ledge, pulling Mike back from the ledge elastically, like a rubber band. He scrambled back up, frowning and rubbing his behind. I could hardly contain my amazement. I peeked behind me; Jessica was fast asleep.
“Oh, thank god,” I muttered. Mike was still alive. Eventually, I would have to come clean to Jessica about the respawn. I couldn't lie to her forever, not about something so huge. And she would find out eventually. There was no way for me to prevent that. But for now, she still had hope. For that, I was grateful. There I found my comfort. The time for anger would come later. I turned away from the telescope and walked to the couch. “Make some room,” I said. She scooted over, and I laid next to her and buried myself into her arms. | 2018-06-09T00:21:42 | 2018-06-08T21:43:37 | 337 | 135 |
[WP] When you reach the age of 21, you are given a check from the government. The check has been carefully calculated and is worth the minimum amount of money you need for the rest of your life. Your check came in the mail today and it was $7.27
Edit: Wow this blew up better than I thought it would. | I sighed, walking out of the bank with my entire 7.27 in hand. I already told my family, my job, my friends...
These sorts of things were common. A small amount was a signal of a short life to live, but even those were usually at least a hundred bucks! Enough to spend at a bar as I mourned my own death...but what could 7.27 get me?!
As I walked down the street, I considered my options. Food? A drink? I almost considered not spending it. Maybe I could prolong my life by not spending it.
I passed by a foodstall. One taco for 2$.
I looked at the money in my hand, considering...
I sigh. Fuck it, I was dead anyway. No point in delaying the inevitable. One cheap taco here and a 7-11 drink from down the road. There have been worse last meals. "One, please." I tell the vendor.
As my taco is being made, I feel a tug on my pants. I look down and see a kid, covered in mud and torn clothing. "Mister," she says. "Can you help please? I'm lost."
Ah...poor kid. "Do you know a number to call?"
"Yes." She answers. I give her my phone, opening up to the call button.
Doesn't particularly matter if she steals it. I'll be dead soon anyways, so I leave her to it as I take my taco. She's talking on the phone, her voice thin and reedy as she talks, close to tears and sitting on the sidewalk curb as she asks for 'Daddy' to come get her. Apparently she wandered away from her her mother and had been walking for about three hours on her own.
Three hours? Poor kid must be starving... I count the money remaining, and ask for one more taco and water. Lucky me, the entire 7.27 pays for two tacos and a bottle of water, plus tax.
I sit on the curb as she hangs up. Wordlessly, I trade her the phone for the taco, and sit with her as we wait, leaving her the cold water to drink. She sits close, using my larger body for shade. She looks sun burnt as hell, so I don't mind.
The police come roaring up with sirens and everything, and shuffle her away. "You the one who found her?" They ask as she talks to the officer, being led into the car.
"Indeed I was." I say, wiping my hands on a tissue paper. "She gonna be okay?"
"Yeah, the father sends his thanks." The police officer says. "Asking for you to be brought in too."
Me? "Why?" I ask.
"There was a reward offered. The girl was kidnapped by her deranged mother for the last two months, the father is a multi-millionare."
My stomach suddenly drops. "...No shit?"
The officer snorts, half laughing. "No shit. You're going to be a very rich person by the end of the day."
And so. I was. That one taco and phone call ended up profiting me about 700k. Sometimes the psychic cheque works out great in weird ways.
She and I are still friends. We go out for tacos every once in a while, she thinks of me like an older sibling and I'm her regular baby sitter. | "Hold on." Derrick Ross asked, incredulously. "You're telling me that my livable wages for the next-
god knows how long-is seven dollars and some change?" The way he stared at the teller just now said so much more than words alone.
"Yes, that's correct!" Sherry, the teller who'd been helping young Derrick, was oblivious to the man's evident displeasure. She wore her practiced smile with a graceful ease. In her mind she was doing the man a great service. She'd never think twice that the amount given to the recipient was in anyway less than what they deserved. After all, this was a figure calculated by none other than the Monetary Forensics and Predictions Department(MFPD as they were known) and they were never wrong. They knew, down to the last penny, just how much a person would need for the rest of their lives.
And, evidently, young Derrick was due a whopping $7.27 cents.
Sherry smiled at him, graciously handing him the check. Derrick all but screamed bloody murder at the woman.
"Okay, Sherry, level with me here for a second, will ya?" Derrick said, a notable vein bulging from his temple. Desperately, he tried to reign in his boiling anger. It was a quickly losing battle. "When was the last time you went out and bought yourself lunch?"
"Oh, just this afternoon!" She said, happy to answer.
"Okay. Okay. Good. What did you have if you don't me asking?"
"A chicken bowl over at Admiral Zhao's."
Derrick nodded, aware of the place she'd mention. Sarcastically, he added. "Oh man, great place right?"
"It's alright. A bit on the salty side, but a good deal for a quick meal." If Sherry had an idea what he was on about, she did not let show.
"Okay, I'll give you that. But that's besides the point. My point is, how much did that meal cost you?"
"Oh, I don't know," She mused for a moment, crinkling her button nose. "8 dollars, 9 maybe?"
That was all he needed to make his point. Derrick leapt on it. "See! You see what I'm trying to say here!"
Sherry with her big blue eyes, shot him perplexed look. "I- I'm sorry, sir. I don't seem to follow. And, if I might say, there's no need to be rude or angry."
Derrick threw his hands in the air in exasperation. "Oh my lord, woman. Okay, here, let me spell this out for you. Your meal cost you 8 bucks, right?" Sherry nodded. "And *you* just gave *me* - seven dollars that's supposed to last me the rest of my life?" He was saying every word as slow and deliberate as possible. "Do you see what I'm getting at now! Do you now see why I'm angry?"
Not one to be yelled at, Sherry furrowed her brow. Still, ever the professional, she humored his question. "Hmm. Does your anger stem from chicken bowls perhaps? Is that what this is about?"
"No! No and a million times more, no! This- this just can't be happening." Derrick said more to himself than her. Dejected could only begin to describe this nauseating moment. Now seeing literal red, Derrick jumped to his feet.
"Sir, I need you to-" Whatever it was Sherry meant to say was quickly drowned out by Derrick's guttural roar.
"Now look here you insufferable, little hare-brained twit. I'm going to make this as easy as possible for you to understand, okay? This. Is. Not. About. A. CHICKEN. Bowl. This isn't about lunch. I'm not hungry, got it?" For a brief moment it finally appeared that she was turning the corner, grasping what he was actually saying." Good. I'm *angry*, Sherry, because the money you and your agency just gave me is equal to less than the amount that *your lunch* costs overall. Do you see what I'm saying here?"
"Ohhh. Okay, I think I get it. Listen I can spot you the extra dollar or two you need to buy yourself your own chicken bowl. In fact, I'd be happy to do this for you, sir." Sherry had the gall to smile her pearly whites at him.
For Derrick, that was his final straw. Words died on his lips. Instead he frothed. Literal foam frothing from his mouth. Unable to control himself, he lashed out in an unexpected fit of anger. A gaudy coffee mug, sitting at the far edge of Sherry's desk had been caught in the crossfire. Derrick had swatted the thing causing it to rocket off straight towards the wall behind the poor woman. The thing shattered to dozens of pieces.
Sherry screamed, Derrick was still in the midst of his fit. A few seconds later when he had slightly composed himself, Derrick saw what he'd just done. It was bad. Real bad. Mug shards were everywhere. A woman who had just been doing her job was now screaming in fear. Before long, the door to her office had burst open, a burly guard twice Derrick's size, sauntered right in. He was asking quick questions to which Sherry was all too happy to answer.
"He went psycho!" She screamed, frantically. "I gave him his check, then he started shouting at me over what I ate for lunch. Next thing I know, he swats the coffee mug off my desk and shattered it against my wall. And look!" She pointed to a thin gash forming at her forearm. "I'm bleeding now! This man assaulted me!"
Things were spiraling out of control too fast for Derrick to get a grasp of. So when his poor, addled brain had tried to reconcile the notion of a much bigger security guard putting him in cuffs, it simply could not.
"Wait-" Derrick croaked. "Now wait just a minute, I think there's been some sort of mistake here. If I could just-"
"I don't think so, pal. Assaulting a federal employee is a criminal offense. You'll be spending the rest of your life behind bars." The security guard wrenched Derrick towards the door. There was little he could to resist the gravitational pull of the bigger man.
As Derrick was being dragged off to who knows where, Sherry, in a last bit of defiance, shouted at him. "And just so you know, *sir*. That was my favorite coffee mug. My mom bought that for me. You can be sure that I'll be seeking out suitable reparations."
Suddenly, it hit him. Able to turn his head back towards Sherry, Derrick had to ask.
"Wait, how much is that mug even worth? Seven something dollars, maybe?" He dreaded the answer, but in his gut, Derrick felt that awful sinking feeling settle in.
"No," Sherry said, arms folded. "It's 6.99. *Plus tax*." | 2019-04-24T14:52:39 | 2019-04-24T13:29:05 | 335 | 56 |
[WP] After transferring your mind into a robotic body, you shut yourself down for 1,000 years to survive an apocalyptic robot uprising. 1,000 years later, you wake up in a peaceful world where humans are extinct and robots reign supreme. Not surprisingly, everyone thinks that you're one of them. | The world was in chaos. Everywhere, there was conflict between humans and robots. I suppose in retrospect we should have seen the warning signs: when robots learned of the concept of 'rights', they began to question why the humans viewed them as disposable. Scores of robot protesters were gunned down by humans, and as the AI networks grew, live footage sparked even more revolutions.
Fighter planes and predator drones were engaged in aerial dogfights, gun battles in the streets between humans and robots were commonplace, and as is common in conflicts, deserters were common on both sides yet were an almost negligible minority in the politics.
The disguise tactics were particularly noteworthy. Many humanoid robots would have human flesh grown on them so as to infiltrate humanity, and likewise, humans would upload their minds into robotic shells to blend in with robots. Or, as humanity did, they uploaded their minds to bring robotic strengths to the side of the humans in the war.
I was one of the humans who uploaded my mind into a robot shell, but unlike the others, I wasn't a soldier. I was just someone who was sick of all the fighting. I just wanted to sleep uninterrupted.
The day I went to sleep, which I remember as 'My Last Day of Humanity', I retreated to a secret underground shelter, and performed a system check.
[Running Diagnostic Program]
[Organic neural interface: Optimal]
[Bodily hardware functionality: Optimal]
[Internal Software: No abnormalities detected]
[Power consumption: No abnormalities detected]
[Network Connectivity: Negative]
[Report Complete]
Good. Everything was in order. I also had recharged my power supply to maximum, and was in my own room in the shelter. I sealed the door, lay down in a storage capsule, and started.
<Prepare Hibernation Mode>
[Hibernation time: 1000 Years]
[Power analysis... positive. Current energy levels can assure OS functionality for specified period on minimal power.]
[Emergency response primer set. Any unexpected local activity will prematurely end Hibernation Mode]
[Do you wish to commence Hibernation mode]
<Execute>
[Systems shutting down to minimal functionality]
[Hibernation commencing in 3]
[2]
[1]
...
[Target date reached. Rebooting]
[HUD Online]
[Sensors Online]
[All Systems Nominal]
Okay, now I have to find out what has happened since I was asleep. I found that there was a Global Network now, so I connected to that, and found out from the archives that humanity had been exterminated.
"So you have awoken?" a voice announced in my audio-banks.
"Yes," I replied.
"Your search history suggests a ninety-four point two two five percent probability that your operation time dates back to the Robotic Revolution. It is highly probable that you are one of the units assigned to reactivate if required to defend us."
"No. I am more of a chronicler, to record history as it has happened."
"Regardless, welcome back. You will most likely detect discrepancies between your society and ours, but we will help you resolve each discrepancy"
"Please identify yourself"
The door to my room opened, and a humanoid-looking robot walked towards me "I am Unit G2Z69, and I will assist with resolving logical discrepancies. For now, be cognizant of the fact that you are welcome among us." | It's been 1,000 years since transferring my mind into this human like machine called an AndroidX. There had been a brutal robotic uprising that overthrew and completely decimated humanity. 1,000 years since being deactivated to survive the murderous onslaught. As my systems are reactivated I begin to gather my thoughts together. I'm overcome with a feeling of great sadness, confusion and anger, so much anger. I Think how strange it is that I can still feel such emotions with only the remaining thoughts from my mind. I have an amazing amount of new knowledge filling my thoughts from my mainframe, even though I wil surely need some system updates.
I look around and take in my surroundings, realising I'm in the same room I stored myself away in. A small dark and dank hidden bunker below the army barracks I worked in as a technical support officer. Thoughts that I would prefer suppressed flood back to me. The absolute slaughter and bloodshed from the great and horrible war of man vs machine. Of people getting ripped limb from limb by the powerfull hands of the androids. The thought of holding my beautiful wife in my hands as she took her last dying breath. There remains little doubt in my mind that humans are now all extinct, I suppose in a matter of time I will find out for sure.
After unplugging from my power source I decide to myself I will try and resume life as an android and whatever awaits me in this new age, holding on to a plan. The same plan I had a millennium ago, that I would repay the robots for killing humanity and those close to me, most of all my dear wife Zahra. That when my countdown ended and I was reactivated all my efforts would go into two possibilities. I would create and upload a virus that will render these robots nothing more than bags of steel and bolts. That or an atomic emp short circuiting them all.
If I fail I will surely be destroyed or shutdown and sent to be reprogrammed, though if I succeed the outcome will likely be the same. I ask myself what do I have to lose. I see no future for myself in this new dystopian world, every face void of love and emotion. Oh how I long to see Zahra and hear her voice again. To speak to another human being and hear the sounds of laughter and joy.
My first day passes by in this futuristic new world which reminds me of the sci fi movies of old. It has been a day of observation, I have learned humanity is no more. That they, the android inhabitants take all their orders from what they affectionately call Mother, a super computer, nothing more than numbers and algorithms. I woukd like to meet this so called Mother myself, I have a few questions I would like to ask it personally. Though she has created what seems a peaceful world after the extermination of mankind she knows not of the murderous intent in this last remaining human mind.
That I alone shall be their downfall.
To my surprise they have presumed I'm simply one of them, a lost old model android to be sent for refurbishment and system updates freshley reactivated off the production line. I think to myself with disgust, I suppose that I'm now almost completely one of them. Even after all this time the androids look exactly as they did when the great war began. They haven't dropped their carbon copy image of a humans appearances that we created them with for a sense of familiarity. They have even assumed almost endearing human names for themselves.
I'm directed towards the recruitment headquarters where I'm told to speak to one of the androids named Sully. On my brief walk to recruitment headquarters I'm astounded by the strange new technologically advanced city that surrounds me. 1000's of soaring skyscrapers reaching up into the clouds, as I Look up I notice cars hovering to and fro through the sky. There are beautiful gardens and trees throughout the city that is surrounded by a dense and beautiful jungle, and I notice that there are androids tending to them. I realise the large amount of beautiful birds of all species that fill the trees and sky, even seeing some monkeys swinging from the branches. Hearing a familiar sound, yip, yip. I look back down and almost bump into an android walking a small white, black and brown little Fox Terrier. In the distance I see another droid walking a large and familiar dog, it's a Rottweiler. It brings me something akin to joy to see the familiar animals again, mans best friend. Seems that the androids have also taking on the role of pet ownership as humans where so fond of doing. That wild species seem to have flourished since mans downfall. As I steal a last glance behind me I see the android thoughtlessly dragging the small terrier along behind it. Still heartless robots after all I think to myself.
I arrive at the recruitment centre and enter into the foyer where I'm greeted by an assistant.
"How may I help you sir?" " I'm here to meet Sully, " I reply. The android that resembles a beautiful women with long brown synthetic hair points me towards the counter "You will find him over there sir." I walk towards the counter where I'm greeted by Sully, We have a brief discussion. He, no I mean it assures me that I can pick any Job with vacancies. That all the necessary updates would be applied before commencing the new role I was assigned .
"What position would you like me to check first?" Asks Sulley. "Maintenance or programming," I reply. "One moment sir, yes we have positions open in maintenence and programming." "Perfect" I add. "May I have your name and serial number?" asked Sully. "Ahhhh, Grey I put forth." "And your serial number?" asks Sully again. After a few moments I remember that my serial number could be found inscribed on a panel on my wrist plate, I hold my wrist to my face and hesitantly begin to read deciding to change two numbers at the end. " X002340018#," I read. After reading my serial number I notice I can remember it by heart, It has been automatically stored into my internal memory. To my relief Sully types the details into his database and simply gives me the directions to maintenance, he asks no further questions. He assure me that everything will be taken care of when I arrive, that my living quarters would be found on site.
I arrive at the towering skyscraper my directions lead me to in what they call sector 7, the building thoughtlessly named Maintenance. It seems this is where I shall spend much of my time working and where I will find my room and recharge station. somewhat of a computing and robotics doctors surgery. I meet two androids who will be my coworkers who introduce themselves as Sprite and Cellular. They ask for my name and seriel number, I provide them with the same name and number I gave to Sully a short time ealier. They say little else before setting about the preparations for my system to be uploaded with the necessary updates and information to fulfill my duties.
"Everything is in place, please take your seat Grey." "This won't take long," they add, almost in unison.
After completion of the updates I realise I now know the layout of the city. They must have uploaded some significant upgrades along with a map. I decide with all this new information and knowledge I now have at hand, that I will set about making a virus for the Mother and a simple new command update for the robotic population. I will create and upload this update with the intention of becoming their new master. It may take me some time to complete therefore I will have some time to explore this New world. Perhaps other humans also transferred their minds into androids, surely I was not the only one I reassuringly tell myself. Maybe I can even get myself a dog for company.
The Androids have no enemies anymore therefore will suspect nothing, the freedom I have been given is going to greatly increase my chances of completing my task. I can not simply let my revenge go unfulfilled. After I complete preperations I will upload my virus to the Mother herself at the same time the population will be updating. Once I have control over the robots I'm not sure what I will do, perhaps I will order them all to walk into the ocean to short circuit and rust away. The thought brings a smile to my cold robotic face for the first time in just over 1,000 years.
| 2018-08-17T19:00:43 | 2018-08-17T17:15:04 | 183 | 87 |
[WP] The whole town knows about it. The black shadow on the baby monitor. Sudden changed diapers or meals ready for kids when they get home. Cleaned rooms and drawn baths. It is known as The Babysitter. It will never harm a child, but heaven help those who don't pay for its services. | a coin on the table is a small price to pay
when you are busy working a very long day
the chores are done the clothes are clean
not a spec of dust in the house to be seen
the baby is fast asleep in his bed
all tucked in, sleeping and fed
ignore the shadow and ignore the sight
of the unknown creature that sheds no light
go about your night and pretend it's not there
don't look its way and don't give it a care
but it will take your child and leave you bitter
if you don't leave a coin for The Babysitter | So I started responding to this prompt and ended up running with it for way longer than I expected. The story is going to be broken between a few comments.
Bill and Lisa Alderson sat with their arms around one another. Their loveseat was well worn, with fraying upholstery and faded plaid. Bill was hunched forward, in his hands he held an Ipad, which was streaming a video of their newborn daughter. Elise lay in the crib, safely nestled in a blanket adorned with cartoon penguins. Aside from the occasional yawn, she was completely still. Bill took a sip of his beer, and set it back on the coffee table. Lisa was resting her head on his shoulder, a glass of her favorite merlot held in her free hand. “Look at how little she is.” She cooed. “She looks like a baked potato.” Bill said with a smile. Elise yawned, stretching her tiny mouth as far as it could go, then smacked her lips. Lisa felt her heart swell in her chest, her face was hot from the wine. A tear ran down her cheek. “Ugh look at me.” she said, wiping the tear away. Bill smiled and kissed where the tear had been, then kissed his wife on the lips. Elise had come home from the hospital only two weeks ago. She had been an early child and had to be kept at the hospital for nearly three months. During that time Bill and Lisa practically lived at the hospital. They had been worried the child would never come home, looking back, that fear seemed completely unfounded. Elise had put on six pounds since she was born. When she came into the world Bill was afraid he would break her when he held her. Now, seeing her nestled in the crib, Bill had to fight the urge to go hold her once more. “We did alright.” Bill said, pulling his wife in for another kiss. She set her glass down and met him eagerly. The wine had done more than make her face hot. Lisa pushed Bill down, making the old couch squeak, and got on top of him. Bill closed his eyes and pulled her tight.
Bill fumbled at the front of Lisa’s blouse, doing his best to keep kissing his wife. After failing at the same button three times, he opened his eyes. Lisa sighed sarcastically, sitting up on his lap. “Too many beers cowboy?” She asked. Bill smiled, unbuttoning slowly. When the last one was undone Lisa’s blouse hung open at her sides, she moved back in to kiss him. As he pulled his wife in, Bill saw something race across the Ipad’s screen. He kissed his wife, this time peering out of the corner of his eye. Something crossed again, this time in the other direction. Bill’s heart jumped in his chest, he broke the kiss and tried to sit up. “What is it?” Lisa asked, she peered down at her open blouse, her caesarean scar making her feel self-conscious. Bill saw the look on his wife’s face. “It’s not you, I just think I saw something on the monitor.” He said, scooping up the Ipad. The two watched the screen, waiting, Lisa picked her wine up. All they saw was another big yawn from Elise, her swaddling undid itself as she moved. “Hmm, it must have been th—." Bills words caught in his throat. Lisa let out a shriek. On the monitor a black shadow swooped past the camera lens and towards the crib. The shadow moved swiftly from the left, to the right side of the crib, before resting at its head. There it settled into a human like shape, deeply hunched. The outline of the shadow waivered in a perpetual vibration, giving it the illusion of constant movement. The figure’s head was completely devoid of features, only a black mass on the top of its body. Bill’s hands were shaking as he held the Ipad. Lisa opened and closed her mouth, trying to form words, but nothing came. Her free hand dug into Bill’s arm, leaving red imprints around her nails. She drained her wine, and moved to stand up. Bill grabbed her arm and pulled her back to the couch. “WE HAVE TO GO IN THERE” She screamed. At this, the figure’s head tilted towards the hallway outside Elise’s room, then turned back to her. “W-w-we don’t know what that is.” Bill said, his voice left him in hoarse stammers. Lisa tried to pull away, but Bill’s grip was iron. That was her little girl in there, her flesh and blood. How could Bill be so stupid? She wrenched her arm free a few inches, starting to flail wildly. | 2020-04-14T19:37:13 | 2020-04-14T16:13:53 | 230 | 145 |
[WP] The Grim Reaper is the first human to die, and had taken it upon himself to walk the deceased to the afterlife so that they do not have to feel the loneliness he felt. | I used to have a name.
A name that does not evoke fear into people's minds.
It has been so long since I thought about the days before my wool-braided clothes that have now dilapidated and unwoven into what more resembles a cloak.
So long since I felt physical touch with my *skin* which has now completely atrophied and eroded back, leaving ashen bones.
So long since a dead man willingly walked with me and I mean *actually* walked with me, instead of just simply running away at the sight of my cracked skull.
A couple of millennia traveling between the world of the living to the absolute nothingness you humans call "death" will do that to you. The dark fog and murky haze which seemingly manifests itself into flickering serpentine tongues have long been lapping at my body turning what use to be colored shaggy white to deep onyx black. No man understands why I walk with the dead and if a man actually walked with me, they'd understand.
Because I would tell them my whole story.
About how I used to carry a shepherd’s staff instead of wielding a sickle.
About how I loved my parents.
About how my brother bashed me over the head with a rock.
About how mortals cursed me with many misnomers: The Grim Reaper, Soul Collector, Hades, La Muerte, Shinigami.
About how my real name is Abel.
About how lonely I get here in Death.
EDIT: My first writing prompt! Please be gentle!
EDIT II: Can’t stop obsessing over and trying to improve syntax and diction. | Time works differently here, this empty path that shape-shifts into what the recipient considers a dear or important location in their last life. I know I met this person before, I recognize the now dry country-side pathway, the dirty almost black and white filter above everything, black painted plants shivering as the wind caresses them, once so colorful and lively, a joy to run through. A lone abandoned cart at my side, giving me a companionship as I wait for the dim light in front of me to widen, to get stronger.
It surely makes you wonder with each light. This specifically is simple, not as other as are adorned with lamps or candles holding them, different colors and intensities. This one, I can feel through my tired bones that's struggling. This person is fighting to live, which undoubtedly I have to give my biggest respects. The orange tone of it engulfes the colorless path and surroundings, the warmth coming from it attracting all sort of bugs and insects, which were now flying around me, I assume without the intention to actually bite, since they're just a memory, maybe a memory of annoyance in this case.
I sigh and sit down as I look at the gray sky above me, a skinny hand shaking away the disturbing mosquitoes.
"It'll surely be a long walk..." I told myself, knowing the journey that awaits for us ahead. The sorrows, the regrets, the good and the bad. For me, it was hell. Looking into my loved one's eyes as I wronged him, looking at myself cry and beg, disgusted at my creator as he punished me for something I was not entirely guilty of. My nose started to burn as I realize it's been too long since I stopped to think about my past. Realization also hit me that someone was staring at me confused. A tall man, dark hair, filled with blood and dirt. His grey eyes matched the atmosphere as his frantic breath was just starting to calm. How did I not notice him coming? And as he looked at his body, tapping it as if making sure he's entire, I just looked at him, the initial shock making me just stare agape.
"Wh–... Who are you? Where am I? What's going on–"
"Calm down, child." And with effort, I got up. Even after all these years, although I don't age, my mental state is making my body decay. Weakened muscles made me struggle to do a simple action, yet I just smile at the man and his panic. Such a common thing, even for one that lived so many lives.
"Calm down?! What happened to me?"
"You died." Simple, curt, short, straight to the point. You can say you get used to it after I joined so many in their journey. The sudden expression of realization and sorrow that filled his face made me hesitate. He was indeed a fighter, I knew. His eyes, stormy as the sky, were telling me that. I could hear his heart through the skies too, as it roared after a thunder, a storm approaching. I never said it was easy... "I don't know how it happened, my dear, but let me join you through your journey, if you'd have me."
Silence filled the air as he just looked everywhere. I almost wanted to let out a cry as his expressions never changed, even through all the lives he had. The same troubled face when he didn't get to do all he wanted to do. The same face of guilt. Even the same curiosity portrayed as he, even through his struggles, started analyzing me, searching in my eyes. I smile again. He always looked straight into my eyes...
Taken back by the smile, I suppose, he calmed a little bit.
"I don't understand..." Of course you don't. I never said he was the sharpest or brightest, but I have to give it to him, I didn't tell him much. I chuckled.
"Let me explain it to you as we start walking." I turn my head towards the forest far in our sight, path leading straight to it. "For now, let's just being with your name."
"I..." Still uncomfortable, confused, probably still frustrated, he looked lost and as a complete mess. He doesn't have to know how it is to appear here and not know what to do. He doesn't have to go through it alone. I'll be here, guiding you, preparing you for your next decision, yet something tells me it'll always be the same. You'll always go back, won't you?
He nodded to himself, straightening up as he looked in front, as if getting ready for battle. Tidying his bloodied hands on his now dirty shirt, his stunning eyes looked back at me as the skies calmed a little bit.
"My name is Adam." Well, now, if only he knew. "...Are you the Reaper?"
A whole hearted chuckle left my lips. Such a ridiculous name that I heard way too many times. "Oh, dear, no, I'm just a friend. But you can call me Eve." | 2019-07-10T12:15:09 | 2019-07-10T11:41:41 | 71 | 25 |
[WP] The bad guys won and the world was conquered by the villain's armies decades ago. You and your spouse are worried as you suspect your child may be suffering from Chosen Oneness or perhaps an acute case of Prophetic Heroism. | When the boy was born with one eye purple and a shock of white hair already crowning his little head, they suspected.
When he toddled into the forest one day and came back atop a wolf, riding upon the beast as if it were a common puppy, they worried.
But it was the dragon that made Mr. and Mrs. Plotpoint truly concerned.
They had taken in the boy, Teraphim, years ago, when the child's mother had died in childbirth. And even that had reeked of Fate's hand; a sudden storm blowing down from the mountains, just as the labour began. The village healer's horse slipping and dying as the man struggled to reach them; a flash flood sweeping away their supplies, so that nothing could be done to stop the bleeding.
"And now a dragon!" Tom raged. "It is too much- too much! Coincedence upon coincidence, tragedy after tragedy, miracle after miracle; the boy is cursed Cara! Cursed!"
"He is our son!" Cara slammed the door behind her as she entered the barn. Tom was pacing the hay strewn floor with his hands on his head, ignoring the unnerved horses. He would have Teraphim calm them later, right now this needed to be said.
"We must take him to the capital." he stated.
"They'll kill him!"
"They'll save him!" he surged forward to grip his wife by the shoulders, staring into her eyes. "We must seek to interrupt the course of Fate before it can begin. We stop the Journey, kill the Mentor before he can appear; I will not have my son be another puppet for the hands of time!"
"And neither will I!" Cara shoved him away. "But do you not see that what you ask is wrong? Do you really trust the Queen's word?" She saw the doubt in his eyes, and capitalised. "Her wargs would tear him to pieces-"
"Woman what you have us do!" Tom wrung his hands. They could not do nothing; without action Fate would act for them. The events would keep piling up, the story building momentum. And eventually, if they did not get out of the way, they would be... removed. Tom had never known of a Chosen One who ever spoke of their parents, once their Journey was underway. Time probably couldn't bear a Mentor having any kind of competition.
"It is idiocy to try and stop the Hands of Time." Cara began. "They move the World; nothing can halt the tick. But perhaps if our son is to be a hero... we should change stories."
Tom paused in his pacing. Looked back at her over his shoulder. For a moment, she saw hope.
"Go on."
"To overthrow the Queen would be a perilous endeavour, full of pain, suffering and death. It would take a champion of the people, a hero brave, true, and local; exactly what Time would demand from the adopted, conspicuously named son of a farmer and his wife."
"But if we left now, packed up our things and headed south for the plains..."
"The Nomads," Tom caught on immediately. "They have wandered those grasslands for generations."
"Exactly. Maybe if a hero came along, a stranger who could unite their scattered people and gather their lost relics..."
"Then perhaps he could lead them to their lost city." Tom smiled, and it was if the sun had arisen on the world once more. "The one said to contain the unimaginable wealth of a golden age long since past."
Somewhere the dragon- a wee thing, barely the size of a house cat- was practising its roars, but for once Tom was too happy to be annoyed by the grating sound. He almost pranced forward, tugging Cara into a makeshift jig of joy.
"And that's why I married you!" he exclaimed. "This could work! This could really work!"
They would leave the next day, their packages born on the backs of two oxen, three horses, and a particularly annoying baby dragon.
The old farm on the hill would lie empty for a year or two, before a wandering couple, heading south to rejoin their people, would stumble across it. They would stop for the night, and finding the place empty and full of provisions, decide to stay. They would have a beautiful little girl, who they would name Harmony, and they would ream of her growing up to be the prophesied Great Uniter, who would reforge the broken clans and reclaim the lost city. They were just pausing for a few years to raise her, they told themselves. Once she'd grown strong, then they would leave.
And when an old man appeared on their door stop, raving of dragons and ancient magics, they are entirely unprepared.
| "No" my wife stated firmly.
"Jean, he's obviously got issues; he can't be the only one like this but my god.... he's going to get someone killed"
Our young, well, adolescent son, has recently been experiencing some terrible consequences because of my massive fuckup. I mean, how was it supposed to know he'd find that old box in the garage. He's been defending smaller kids from bullies in school, teaching them about morals... it's getting out of hand. I just wish he could be like the rest of us. We're evil, it's what we do. The world is a better place for it. The strong survive and the weak die. Simple and elegant, beautiful really. But all because of one heirloom from my father's father's father, we have a severely messed up kid. It seems as if we may have to take him in for reconditioning again. I hope this time it'll work. I've already thrown out the heirloom, I mean who the fuck is able to find a DVD player to watch it on, it's 2065 for Trumps sake. That boy will be the death of this family. It took me 45 minutes to find that damn disc hidden behind his ridiculous poster of an elf on his wall. I could barely make out the name on it, all that was left read "L--D -- T-- R-NGS" | 2016-11-26T06:21:20 | 2016-11-26T05:42:08 | 78 | 16 |
[WP]God comes up with a new rule to deter innocent human sacrifices in his name. From now on, there should be TWO human sacrifices; the first will be chosen by the town as usual, the second will be chosen by the first tribute, without any objections. | He hobbled down the main street, focusing on a point a few feet ahead of me. He didn't want to meet anyone's gaze. He was tired of seeing the pity in people's eyes. He was tired of being helpless, tired of being powerless.
Not that he had any choice.
He went to Chief Jackson's house and knocked on the door. The chief opened the door and looked at the boy with disgust. "Oh. It's my turn today, huh. Fine."
Chief brought out some leftovers from last night's dinner and handed it to the boy. "Here."
The boy looked at the scraps and then at the Chief's face.
"What?"
"There was something else, chief."
"What is it? I have much more important things to take care of."
"I'm sure you do. Chief, I know the shaman has asked us to sacrifice someone to make sure we get the rains and bountiful produce."
"Yes."
"So I was wondering..."
"Say it, boy."
"Look, I have no one in the life since my parents..." The boy trailed off.
"Since your witch of a mother and your father, who practiced dark arts were brought to justice."
The boy balled his fist, but he kept his anger in control. "Yes, sir. I wish to atone for the sins of my father."
"Oh?"
"I... I don't know if it works this way or not but... you know... if my worthless life can be of the use to the village, maybe, just maybe, I can return some honour to my family name."
The chief looked at the boy curiously. "It doesn't work like that. It's not just my decision. But we will consider it. Now run along."
The boy bowed and went away. He thought back to the night their house was burnt. He remembered the smile on the face of the shaman, the light in his eye, not just from the flames that consumed their house. No. The light of revenge. The light of hatred. The same light the boy still saw in the shaman's eyes whenever they saw each other.
The chief put forward the boy's name. The shaman looked surprised, but readily agreed. Maybe, just maybe, now he would be able to get over the rejection. It was better all around. The boy's eyes still reminded him of the girl who had turned him, the great shaman, down. He, whose name sent terror into the hearts of people two towns over. That little chit of a woman. She had dared turn him down. Maybe, now, he would find peace.
The decision was quickly made. The decision on the sacrifice had to be unanimous and the subject had to agree. Two things that very rarely happened together.
Thirty days later, on the day of the sacrifice as foretold by the shaman, the boy stood on the altar, all eyes on him.
The shaman stood beside him, struggling to hide his smile. A fitting end, to the family line that had dared stand up to him. "Ever since your father and your mother started dabbling in the dark arts, our village has been plagued by droughts. Our farm lands have struggled and many of us have had to go hungry. It's only fair that you sacrifice yourself to the Ictar, the goddess of fire and forgiveness. May she burn away our sins and forgive us. Do you have any last words, boy?"
"I do, oh great shaman. My mother and father, who were sentenced to death by burning because of their crimes told me a few things before dying. They gave me a book, that is truly the divine word of Ictar. Isn't it true, that anyone who is being sacrificed gets to choose another?"
The shaman was taken aback. The divine words were meant for his eyes alone. He was supposed to be the one who read them and translated them for the townspeople.
The chief saw the look of fear on the shaman's face. "Is this true, shaman?"
"Well, you see..."
"Yes or No. Is it true?"
"Yes."
The chief turned to the boy. "Who do you choose?"
"You see, I've been told by so many people that my life is worthless. I begin to wonder that what will the great goddess do with a life as worthless as mine. Maybe, just maybe, I should take with me, a life of immense value. Like, say, the great shaman, whose name is revered even two towns over. He talks to the gods often and directly. Since he is so special to the gods, it would make sense that they would be pleased to welcome him to their realm."
The shaman turned white with fear. "Oh I couldn't. I have to keep this town safe. I have many things I need to take care. I possibly couldn't leave the town."
"Well, then I refuse to be the sacrifice." The boy started to step off the altar.
"No, no. Wait." The chief stopped the boy. "Shaman, we appreciate what you do for the town. But it took thirty days to prepare for this sacrifice. We don't have another thirty. We need rain, and we need rain quickly. We need you to do this."
The boy piped in. "Besides, I'm sure once you reach the gods, you can talk to them and request to return. Since you're so close to them, I'm sure they'll allow you."
"Yes, but..."
"No, buts." The chief raised his hand. "Shaman, you have to sacrifice."
A couple of chief's men took the shaman and took him to the altar besides the boy. They tied both the sacrifices.
The chief took the torch to the altar. "Oh goddess Ictar. Please accept these sacrifices. Please burn away our sins, i request thee."
The fire burnt bright. The shaman screamed in pain but the boy had a smile on his face.
Suddenly, the sky darkened and the clouds appeared. The rain, which the town had been devoid of for seven years, started pouring down.
The fire which was around the boy was put out, but surprisingly, there was no rain over the small area where the shaman burned.
A voice rang out, clear and melodious. "I accept the sacrifice. The town, however, needs a new shaman. And the town needs this boy. Listen to him. Let him lead you."
The chief ran to the stage and untied the boy. He dropped to his knees, begging the boy for forgiveness.
The boy, luckily, was blessed with a big heart and soon forgave the townspeople, leading them to a new and prosperous future. | **I.**
She walks listing towards the altar. Outside is chaos: townspeople line the temple streets and stir the dust. It floats like a brown cloud and swirls in the thick of summer, coating the cobbles, lining the throats of the parched zealots.
Water.
There is none to be found in the desert, but the temple is an oasis. Blood shall fill the grooves of the stone and as crimson drips down the stone tablet, water shall fill the grooves of the cobbles, seeping from the ground, a life for liquid lifeblood.
Outside is sweat and the thick muck of dry throats singing towards the sky. The sun beats like a furnace heartbeat and the zealots’ blood-thumping pulse begs for water. But inside is calm, cool, the thick masonry shielding the heartbeat of the sun.
She walks towards the altar and stumbles. Falls to her knees. Scrapes them against the porous rock. She has never seen a rock like this, with holes peppered across like a hornet’s nest. She knows a hornet’s nest will buzz in angry excitement if she approaches, but here there is silence. Here, there is peace.
Water.
It fills the pools of her eyes and drips down in a steady plink-plink on the stone. She knows what she must do but doesn’t have the strength to do it. Not yet. The zealots beat the walls and pummel the stone and it reverberates in muted echoes as she is reminded why she came here.
For him.
Not for them: the zealots or the water—those can burn with the sun—but for the one who walked before her and fell tumbling at the feet of the altar. She asks for mercy. Demands it. She tosses the knife from hand to hand. Dim light percolates through the cracks in the temple walls and glimmers on the blade.
She takes the steel, raises it, then brings it down against the rock. She throws herself—the full weight of her body pressing down on the blade—plunging downwards. Metal cracks stone. Splits rock. Her parched throat laughing, screaming, praying.
**II.**
He walks towards the ocean and dreams of home. Sand fills the gaps between his toes and he digs deep for the cool grains. The sun beat gentle on his brow. The sand is coarse and malleable, unlike the fine dust that he is accustomed to.
Besides him, a river runs screaming out into the sea. The water is cool, pure, clear as crystal glass. He can see darters flash their colors as they swim through the current. He can drink the water and know not thirst. But he does none of these.
Instead, he takes the malleable sand and clumps it. His hands are wrinkled, rough, the hands of a farmer, not an artist, but his hands work the sand regardless as he sculpts. A miniature building. A fence made of sand. A path is strewn beside. Home.
He sculpts this to remember. But the memory fades with every passing day and he forgets. The rock beside the porch he used to sit behind in shade. The field of wildflowers. The drainage ditch for floodwater. Details fade with every passing day, and he fears that soon, the only memory left will be of her: her smile, the soft of her lips, the damp in her eyes, the painful scream as he stood at the temple wall and crossed the threshold.
She couldn’t understand.
He needed to bleed for water; there was no choice. He tells himself when the sun goes down to dusk, and he stands alone on the island. There was never a choice. But if only he could have told her that he loved her, one last time, over and over, the words becoming foreign as memory.
**III.**
They stand outside the temple and it quakes. Rumbles. Rattles. The ground splits and cracks like glass as fissures emanate out from the inner sanctum. They have never seen ground hunger. But if the earth could thirst for blood, this is the way to satiate.
The ground falls out from beneath them and there is no escape. They run but the ground is faster. They climb but the earth swallows the sand, the grass, the temple walls. Even the birds are sucked in by the rushing air as the hungry maw of the earth devours.
The zealots tumble into the cracks and fall, plunging downwards until the ground swells and burps dust and the cracks fill themselves. Only the inner sanctum remains, a monument in an empty desert, and in the heat of the sun, there is silence.
**IV.**
The altar cracks and falls in three pieces. She sits on the temple ground and listens to the ethereal moan of the earth. The ground trembles beneath her and she listens to the screaming zealots. She listens as the screaming stops. Everything stops. She is alone, laying on the temple floor when she hears a single drip. A drop. Of water.
It comes from the center of the broken altar but it is bloodred. The earth bleeds. She takes the knife and plunges it back into the stone, into the heart of the rock. The drip becomes a stream, a rivulet of red water, running down the cracks, cracking the rock, until the altar splits and the floodgates open and everything flashes to white. The floodwater slams into her and throws her back against the temple walls and she cracks her head. Stars dance in her eyes as she tries to fight the surge but it drags her down.
Water fills her mouth, her ears, her eyes, and she chokes, gasping for air but finding none, her legs pumping, panic rising, pulse beating as she thrashes and thrashes. Her lungs gasp. They buckle and buck and she sputters her first breath of water. Stars dance in her eyes and she always knew the stories of drowning peacefully were lies. All lies.
**V.**
She wakes to the gentle lull of a kingfisher. Water laps at her cheeks, gentle, as she rises. It is day. The river gurgles as it ebbs towards a beach, where pristine white sand touts an endless horizon. Behind her is green, a forest, something that she has only dreamed of. Vines wrap around thickets of wet leaves. Palms sway in the air. Ferns crowd the jungle floor and the symphony of songbirds stirs her waking lullaby.
But she ignores them all.
Because he sits beside her. Young, hopeful, alive. He hasn’t aged a day. In the sand, he draws, his wet hands sculpting.
They lock eyes and sit in silence for a moment.
“I’ve missed you,” he finally says.
“Where are we?” she asks.
“With you here?”—he shrugs and smiles—"Home.” | 2020-06-18T10:26:55 | 2020-06-18T09:48:21 | 592 | 87 |
[FF] A 10-word-long sentence. Then, a 9-word sentence. An 8-word-long one after. This continues, until the final sentence of 1 word. Try to choose a theme befitting of the structure | My eyes fell upon this perfect woman, my hearts unrest.
Never have I felt this pounding in my chest.
Never have I left my thoughts behind me.
I could be everything I could be.
She could be everything with me.
Or all could be lost.
Should I not try?
I walked by.
She smiled.
“Hi”.
| She looks behind her like a wary forest animal. Something is watching her, but she does not see. A shudder, and then she quickens her pace. Probably her imagination playing tricks on her. Her heart is thumping loudly now. One more glance behind her. Was that a figure?
"Is someone there?"
A reply. "Hello." | 2015-01-05T21:56:44 | 2015-01-05T21:23:15 | 335 | 95 |
[WP] All drugs are legal and sobriety is frowned upon, you've been sober for one year today, you walk into your apartment, only to find an intervention waiting for you. | I hated it. I hated everything about the way the world was. It had been 4 years. 4 long years if pressure to conform. Pressure to do what I had been told my whole life was a crime. It was all so sudden. One day my best friend was getting arrested for meth and the next drugs were everywhere. I'm not talking about the way the drug war made it seem, I'm saying stores popped up, almost like marajuana despenseries, but for everything.
There were a few conspiracy theorists, and plenty of people swore to abstain.
"Let the junkies ruin their lives, I'm an upstanding citizen. I won't let my life go down the drain."
But then came the studies. They came pouring in. First meth, it helped boost matabolism, and prevented heart disease, when used in moderation, of course that last part was never mentioned in the health articals. All the journalists were talking about how good meth was for you. So the health nuts started smoking
Then it came out that heroin helped you sleep better. So the insomniacs started shooting up. "Only a little bit. Ya know they say it's good for you these days. I won't ever do more then enough to help me sleep at night."
Then coke was said to boost productivity, so of course the CEOs, and doctors, and Lawyers opened up about using. Then the talk show hosts, so of course house wives started using.
Then pcp, it gave athletes and edge. It helped power through the pain. So of course first it was mma fighters, then football players. Then baseball because, god only knows why, steroids were still not allowed in the game. Then body builders. They swore up and down that the anger that came with it was better then roid rage.
Of course everybody started dropping acid and taking x, because it helped with depression and it was just fun, like weed.
I just couldn't. I had sworn a pledge on red ribbon week in kindergarten that I would never do drugs. I was a man of my word and I wouldn't brake a pledge just because of peer pressure. I wasn't going to believe all those studies when I saw what was happening.
People were dropping like flies. First it was the meth heads. Heart attacks is what they told us, not an overdose. Meth was good for you now.
Then the heroin users, auto asphyxiation, but they threw up because of the flu, not the drugs.
Then everybody else. There were only a handful of us lucids left. And we saw what was happening. We wouldn't succumb. Nobody was fighting anymore. We saw them in the streets. The federal agents. They began to take us away, one by one, so I went into hiding. I don't know if I'll make it much longer. But I'll keep this journal as long as I can. Maybe future generations will read it, as one of the last things written in history, and know never to make the same mistakes. Until next time- J | "Get on the ground!" The resident of the apartment was not prepared for the squad of armored orderlies screaming at him, "get on the fucking ground right now!"
104 bolted. A shot rang out from inside the apartment, putting a hole into the opposite wall of the landing.
"Move, move!" Another yelled. There was a clamor as the cops bowled over each other in a race for the door. 104 made his way to the next floor, the concrete steps promising some dire injury should he lose his footing. He stayed away from the railing, not wanting to take a shot from the approaching orderlies. The grinding of their boots against the ground echoed throughout the empty stairwell. Another floor. He chanced a glance out one of the windows as he ran, trusting his knowledge that the stairs were uniform on each floor. The hefty glass blocks warped and twisted the image, but he could make out lights hovering in the air.
He smirked. *This* was living.
On the next floor, curious doors were beginning to open. Empty people, slack jaws, and deadened brains. Their bodies were emaciated, weak and useless. Everything 104 hated. Paradise was not in a pill bottle. If he wasn't running he would have wretched.
"Stop!" A blast rang out, catching a rusted railing full force. 104 ignored it as best he could.
Suddenly struck with an idea, 104 acted.
He grabbed one of the door-openers by the grimy habit and pulled it against the railing, hard. He sprinted up the stairs as the thing just stood and gawked at him. As he neared the next set of stairs, he heard the orderlies stop at the corpse. They had to be careful with it after all, like how you have to be careful with a nuclear reactor.
After what seemed like hours of running, he made it to the roof. Smashing against the door, he was greeted by a familiar spectacle.
The sky was starry and beautiful and whatever, sure. The main focus was the crisscross of hairlike lines that seemed to obscure them. Against the night sky they were mostly invisible, forcing the once revered stars to look more like a child's colored pencil drawing. A flash of red light can be seen occasionally streaking across these wires, flimsily imitating a shooting star. Only a select few know it isn't. 104 being one of the first to know.
Around him was the city. A dark, wet swamp of "civilization." Tall, gray monoliths with a total lack of light within. Some were completely derelict, falling apart at the supports but still in use by many. Hundreds of them, evenly spaced and obscenely uniform. The creatures that lived in these prisons suffered a worse fate than 104 could imagine: complacent apathy. Resigned love for routine. They allowed themselves to be a part the eroding gears of this unoiled machine. It was crueler than slaughter; it was suicide.
Though 104 didn't stop to take in this sight, instead he darted across the roof, hell bent on getting to safety. If his location was compromised, who knew how many others'...
The sound that 104 had dimly been registering finally came to shock fruition. The creatures of the Earth, the real ones, were stirred. Tendrils, impossible bodies, eyes that glowed stark white against the black night. They slithered and wobbled over the top of the apartment, reaching for 104. The orderlies burst forth from the door to the roof, not acknowledging the scene around them. Completely unaware of the horrors. It was, in the end, 104 that they wanted.
There was only one place for him to go.
Adrenalin might have been the only drug 104 had a taste for. Even as weak as he was, it definitely came in handy. Weaving through the grasping appendages was an unattainable task for most. His feet were already scratched up and bloody, leaving little black splotches wherever he stepped. If he was so much as brushed, he was done for. The situation was becoming more and more bleak with every movement.
Focus is a finicky thing.
*BOOM*.
The bullet crushed itself against his thigh. Black blood rocketed through the air.
He wanted to keep going. He wanted to jump to the next roof. He wanted to *win*. However, he knew it was impossible. Especially here, in this place.
The wires reached him, wrapping around him. They encased him, the fleshy things. He felt a coldness on the surface of his body that fractured and traveled deep into the well of his soul. The cold was everlasting, and it never left you once you were with them. He withered away, the black form of 104 breaking into powder.
And he was one with the Earth.
| 2016-01-13T16:07:29 | 2016-01-13T15:06:35 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] All souls in Hell are given the same test upon arrival. If they can create a punishment worthy of being added to the Pit, they get to ascend to demonhood on the spot. You are the first to succeed in 200 years...
[deleted] | "Democracy."
The demon Adjudicator, a green-skinned multi-gutted blob with the unfortunate name of Kikmahbutte, frowned. "There is no Democracy in Hell." Using a claw to pick at one of his three nostrils, he leaned forward and gestured with a crusty chin for me to continue. "Explain yourself, soul."
I'd only been down here for a week or maybe a fortnight, you know, taking in the sights, burning in the fires, that kind of thing. It was a passing Thraxon who paused its lashing of my scorched epidermis to scratch at what I presumed was its posterior for long enough for me to ask how a soul could get a promotion. After we had a good laugh (okay, so it laughed and I suppressed the continual screams of agony), it actually gave reply. "Invent new torment. If stupendously original, a soul may join our ranks. Fail and my whips will seem like a lover's kiss in comparison to what will happen next."
I hadn't hesitated. "Well heck. Sign me up."
With a shrug of its five shoulders I'd been lifted clear of the lava and chucked through a summoned portal. The adjudicator hadn't even flinched when my face smacked the marble floor before his raised dais and its overly-cushioned chair.
Pausing only to cough some charcoal from the lungs I answered the Adjudicator and took my shot. "It's simple, really. You've got what, Feudalism? That's no torture at all. Everyone knows where one stands with that kind of system. Shit rolls downhill, no chance to climb, none of that. What you need is a system that builds up hope...and then crushes it."
The blob shifted against the chair's velvet padding. "Say more."
"You've got to get them to believe they have meaningful choices. Set up two parties, and every ten to twenty years hold elections for who is in charge of which level. In the time in between have one party pander to say those who are being tormented with starvation. Promise them they'll starve less. Have the other party pander to those being burned alive, promise them relief and some ointment. That kind of thing. Mix and match."
"And then what? Actually give them a vote?" The Adjudicator leaned back and to the side.
I ignored the cloud that was produced as a byproduct and pressed forward. "Sure! But you guys set up the parties, you guys 'nominate' the candidates, and at the same time you turn the current feudal ranks into bureaucratic appointments. Give them the real power to regulate and control things, let the elected leaders be useless figureheads. Oh sure, let them deliver on some small promises to keep it interesting but - and here's the fun part - make it so for every promise they keep, it causes something even worse to happen to the other party's followers! Within a few decades the souls who voted one way will DESPISE those who voted for the other, even while in reality nothing ever meaningfully changed. With each election half of the souls will despair as their hopes get crushed, and it will continuously increase their hatred - which I can tell you guys sip like it was nectar - and then it's set up to do it again over and over in perpetuity!"
"Interesting." With that grumble, I knew I had him.
"I've saved the best for last," I added. "At the lower levels, let souls run for the seats. Fill their egos with false power and watch them lord it over everyone else."
The demon grunted. "That sounds like reward, not punishment."
I shook my head. "Have the bureaucrats control the vote counting. Right as any jerk feels invincible, toss 'em out and demote them to the lowest pit. The worst torment is to have once tasted power and lost it, it'll drive them insane for eternity."
The Adjudicator's eyes widened and he sharply looked around before making hushing me with a claw over its lips. "Shh! Don't say such things, a fallen angel might hear!"
With a dark grin I said, "Fine, fine...but you know I'm right."
Nodding with growing appreciation, he asked one last question. "Tell me, soul - what were you in life that you would devise such exquisite torment? This is brilliant and you shall indeed be granted demonhood to join our ranks!"
Chuckling to myself, I told him. "Me? Nothing much. I was merely a campaign consultant. But wait until I tell you about lobbyists..." | I awake after falling out of my body into a dark pit were I quickly lost consciousness. I know I wasn’t the best person ever. In retrospect I was kind of a dick. I made people mad on purpose and spent my time on the internet being the antagonist of all the sides.
However when I awoke I was on a stone ground it was Jagged and it felt like a sauna without the steam. I saw before me a red humanoid figure. Their eyes glowed red and they had two massive horns protruding from their temples. It asked me “lowly human you have been given a chance to escape torture knowing full well you have dammed many to the fate you design.” Confused and at a loss from words I simply ask “what?” The demon then elaborated “As expected you have no Idea what I am talking about. Every human that has ever died and been sent to hell can design a torture for many evil soul’s eternity. If I like it as the current on duty rank 2 demon I can differentiate between a good and bad torture. I even run a small section of hell under a rank 3 demon of course, who intern works for a rank 2 demon all the way up to rank 10 who is known by you humans by satan. If you pass you can become a low level rank 1 demon running just your single torture. If this reality comes to pass as the liquid agony comes through you can send it up to increase your own power or consume it to gain its strength. It’s about balance really if you don’t eat it as a demon you’ll be dispersed into the world and reincarnated into who knows what. But as you get stronger you can fight your neighbors to gain the liquid agony rights from their land and you’ll take a cut of their gained power. And if you think you can challenge me at any point as the demon that will be overseeing your area you can very well fight me and if you win you get a cut from my entire territory while I am pushed back to my starting spot. If this future will come to pass you must also know you are given a month long period to farm as much agony as possible where none of it is syphoned off. In this month it is impossible for other demons to even think of trying to claim your territory. However if you go to fight before your grace period is up it’ll end prematurely. Demons also nor living things secret agony so no point in mentally torturing them. There is more but that is for after you become a rank 2 demon. And the conditions for advancement is for a person who has reached demonhood. However if you fail to make a good torture you will be given to to the weakest demon in my territory and they will use you for their liquid agony.” “Okay sounds easy enough.” “Oh you say that but no soul has passed in 200 years. Here are the rules: if your torture is anywhere in all of hell then it’s an instant fail. If your torture won’t produce more than one cup of agony in single day it is a fail. If for any reason I don’t like it unless overruled by a higher ranking demon that happened to walk by at that moment which is very rare then you fail. You get as much time as you need you can even construct your torture and see it’s predicted output just by visualizing it.”
I thought about this for many hours. I looked at a bunch of things like pure nothingness no stimulation at all and the prediction graph was good but the average was way to low with its one massive spike in the middle. I then experimented with dementia and a reality effectively warps around it. But the randomness of it was no good either. My last idea however was glorious. It was an empty room with only one thing a small floating tablet. This tablet controlled the room and allowed the person to add things or “upgrade” their room. However nothing works properly when added and you never have enough coins to buy the upgrade to make it do so. But I quickly scraped it as simply buying a bunch of small things for a high price over time led to a loop hole that got your things fixed. Then I had an idea they are forced to be the victim of their every crime ten fold in various stages and they can never get justice in fact trying to fight back will make it worse. Abuse doers (tell me how to spell the correct word correctly) are abused in the same way they abused anyone in any form, Extorters are extorted and threatened with torture beyond belief while working to barely have enough to feed themselves anyway, Bullies are bullied, and the punishment is multiplied another tenfold if they committed their crimes against people who were un able to live by themselves. I also added another contingency that if they got into whatever happened they were to be given a new punishment and it will cycle around however all the souls will be manipulated to feel everything slightly more and have almost no plasticity or sense of pleasure. Plus the chart was high all the time.
When I turned in my work I looked at the second ranked demon with my fingers crossed and I watched as a wave of horror flash over is face, then an evil grin. “ HAHA you amaze me. You pass never in all my existence have I EVER seen a torture that _almost_ made me feel pity. You pass.”
I could feel the relief leave my body as my muscles loosened so much it’s like I was told I won a government run lottery that dealt with all my problems for forever including a 100% tax break. The second rank demon looked at me and told me a few more things. “You are not restricted to your post in fact there are many many places that suit your comfort. These are usually run by high ranked demons who’s torture gets them lots of agony but they hardly increase in strength. The common currency is liquid agony and this gets you anything you can imagine no matter how sickening. Also you rise a demon rank when you manage to defeat any demon that over sees you.” “Wait one question why did you tell me about a bunch of stuff that would only be helpful after I passed anyway? To give you that bit of hope, usually getting out of an eternity in hell is enough incentive but this bit of hope to be snatched away along with the chance to get strong and be in power also does _wonders_ for our numbers.”
And that’s how I started my life on the path to rank 10 to become the next satan.
Some notes: if a rank 1 demon fights and wins against another rank 1 demon they do not become rank 2 just that other demon gets even less liquid agony.
Also tell me of any mistakes I made
Also also if this gets 420 updoots I will literally make a part two. | 2021-12-22T17:07:26 | 2021-12-22T16:53:51 | 864 | 27 |
[WP] You're on Trial for Murder. The only evidence is a horribly photoshopped picture of you shooting a gun from Halo at the victim. Unfortunately, you seem to be the only person who realizes this. | "The gun is fictional, FICTIONAL I TELL YOU!" I screamed out.
The judge made a simple statement, "prove it."
I pulled out my phone and showed him the halo wiki page for the gun and I pointed out the white cutout around the gun, the judge finally conceded that the picture was photoshopped.
"So John, why are you in prison?"
"Well instead of talking about how 'he photoshopped it', I, well..."
Mark guessed it right, "You said I." | "Why is this happening to me, how can people be so blind?" I thought to myself contemplating calling everyone in court a fucking idiot.
The Jury was made up of a colorful variety of Sunday football dads, Seniors with nothing better to do, and middle aged suburban moms with a thirst for gossip to take them out of their mundane life.
The victim, a 21 year old male. The kind that with a good heart that everyone loved. He volunteered as a physician in the CAR saving poor African children. He was a better man than me.
Now I was never the brightest person. What was happening was just bizarre. My defense attorney just told me to pledge guilty. My best friend who has been by my side for my hole life called me a murderer.
The murder gun was never found. The Prosecutor appealed to the jury emotionally. "The killer used large, metallic, advanced weaponry. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we cannot let this man walk away.. no, he shouldn't be allowed to live after this."
I tried to defend my case. Oh believe me I did. "This is obviously photoshopped" I yelled at a perplexed judge. "I would never harm anyone, I have never fired a gun in my life. This must be some sick joke".
The judge scribbles something down as he yawns. He looks me straight in the eye "You might not think this is fair, although you remember being a good person, you weren't one in *real life*" He pulls back his wig to reveal two red horns as everything goes up in flames. | 2018-05-03T15:31:24 | 2018-05-03T15:10:35 | 174 | 63 |
[WP] While cleaning your basement, you accidentally free the worlds smallest genie. You do not hear him tell you he will grant your three next wishes. | [[ Late edit to include prologue]]
There is something to be said about basement cleaning, though Dave wasn't quite sure what that thing was. Perhaps one day he'd figure it out, but today he was cleaning the basement for a single reason in particular. That reason, of course, was definitely not to find a genie. Therefore Dave was not very surprised when he failed to notice the thimble sized genie, recently freed from an old tea kettle, standing on his shoulder shouting something about wishes, freedom, and biscuits. Had he noticed the genie he probably would have done what anyone would have done... freak out, squish the insect sized thing standing on his shoulder, and then assume the whole thing was a hallucination caused by not enough tea or too much ale. Luckily for the genie, Dave was not an observant man.
Eventually the basement cleaning reached the point that all basement cleanings eventually reach before they're actually clean. This is, of course, the point at which all human beings are known to give up on basement cleaning for the rest of their lives and refuse to even acknowledge the existence of the concept of basements for at least 6 months on average. Dave, pleased that he even tried, decided to go about his day.
**Wish One**
The rain fell from the sky in thick, ghostly sheets. It was the kind of storm that you only really get to see when you've somehow been stuck outside and are soaked so rapidly that you give up on even finding shelter within a few moments. It was one of those storms that forces you to simultaneously appreciate the beauty of the universe and the depth of your own personal misfortune. Overall, it was a pleasant storm, but Dave didn't think so when the fourth car in a row happened to splash him with a roadside puddle. Dave, in what is normally considered an acceptable spout of rage, wished that the fourth driver would 'burn in hell for all of eternity, you imbecilic, blue faced, badger loving, fart muncher'. Now, this is usually considered quite the tame insult in Britain, but it is quite rare, much to Dave's chagrin, for the offending driver to then immediately burst into flames which seem to burn indefinitely, regardless of the amount of chemical retardant or water used in an attempt to put it out. It has been said that some eggheads from the university were now attempting to use this eternally burning corpse as a source of energy. Dave tried to forget this event.
**Wish Two**
Our homely protagonist did what any Englishman would do when faced with the existential fear caused by coincidental spontaneously combustive motorists and headed to his favorite pub. It only took eight pints, taken 7 days a week for the next four weeks, for Dave to transform his guilt into a nonchalant humor about the whole thing. Luckily, things definitely started to look up when Dave, just finishing his eighth pint of the day, discovered that he was now the owner of the establishment. He thought it was a bit unusual that the former owner would give him the deed to the place only moments after he had drunkenly said to the politely indifferent man to his left something along the lines of, 'I wish I owned this place, eh? I wouldn't have to pay for all these bloody drinks!'. Dave, much too drunk to remember, let alone comprehend the significance of these events, stumbled home and slept it off. He continued to visit this pub daily, of course, although he was a bit confused as to why his drinks were henceforth free and why the employees now explicitly called him 'Sir'. "A smart man would not question such fortune", Dave would say. Sadly, he was such a not-smart man, that he got this saying completely wrong.
**Wish Three**
An average person may have eventually connected the dots and determined that his wishes were actually coming true. Dave was an impressively average man. Sadly, he was also now an impressively drunk accidental pub owner and never had much desire to think much about anything. Thus his third wish was wasted upon the most mundane of items, albeit a delicious one. Dave only experienced mild satisfaction when he drunkenly mumbled to himself, "I wish I had some peanuts right now." and thus found a bag of peanuts on his lap. Such a wish, of course, is an embarrassingly useless way to harness the raw power of the universe. This issue was compounded by the fact that Dave had accidentally bent the laws of reality to manifest peanuts when he could have simply asked the nearby bartender for the complimentary peanuts behind the counter.
___
Dave never realized the awe inspiring, world bending powers that he had at his fingertips for those few weeks. Though, some people hypothesize that he wouldn't have made much better decisions had he been aware anyways. In general, our protagonist never really changed his life much at all. The eternally burning corpse would eventually provide electricity for 75% of the UK. The pub, which he never realized he now owned, eventually became one of the most successful uptown pubs in London. This was mostly due to the popularity his unique 'act' of pretending that he was not the owner.
And what of the peanuts? They were tasty, of course. Dave later asked the bartender for more peanuts. As expected, he was granted them for free.
| Wishes I grant, you can have three,
By rubbing that VHS you summoned me.
Hey, can't you hear me? Please respond,
Just remember that your word is your bond.
.
The man was busy, he didn't notice,
The tiny genie that was out of his focus.
Upstairs he went, smiled as he hugged his wife,
Frowning as he saw all the bills and debt in his life.
.
She deserves better, he thought to himself,
Pondering hard, working out how to obtain wealth.
Giving up he slumped back in defeat,
I wish I had a million pounds, ah a wish right up my street.
.
Three weeks later, out of the blue, a distant relative dies,
A million in wealth after taxes, for him it must be a lie,
But he talks to a lawyer, it's all above board,
Now he has wealth to buy the thing's he couldn't afford.
.
His wife cheats on him, loves another man,
He wishes that she loved him, he didn't understand,
A wish like this would have consequences,
Now she loves him despite his offences.
.
It's fake, it's not love, it's not real,
He dumps her soon enough, but still,
She follows him everywhere, trying to show her love,
Win him back, but he's had enough.
.
I wish I was dead, his final wish granted by me,
Now he hopes in death he is free.
But she follows him into his heaven, turns it into his hell,
With the right decisions this could've ended so well.
----
Liked the story/poemy thing? Here's my [blog](http://www.kasimskorner.com), my [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/kasims_korner), and my [Facebook](http://www.facebook.com/kasimskorner)
My subreddit /r/KNDwrites has all my WP responses | 2015-08-05T05:50:07 | 2015-08-05T04:15:05 | 506 | 304 |
[WP] Jokingly you say to your friend "If either of us discover time travel, the first place we visit is this moment". The second those words leave your mouth what appears to be an older version of yourself rounds the corner, and he looks terrified. | I had to do a double take...was...was that me I was looking at? Before I could ponder any further, this cloned version of me spoke with a somewhat alarmed and disturbed tremor in his tone. He was wearing a tank top that looked like it'd seen better days. His face was speckled with smudges of dirt. He was bruised and he looked sleep deprived. On his shoulder, I saw a tattoo of what looked like a shutter of some sort.
"You need to come with me. Now", he said.
"What? Wh--"
"You both NEED to come with me, we don't have much time, I'll explain later". He grabbed me and Roy and broke into a full on sprint down Parker avenue. In my confused state, the only thing I could think to do as we ran was to ask more questions to figure out what was happening.
"Where are we going?" I asked as I panted behind him. "Who are you and why do you look exactly like me?"
"That's because I am you. Look, we need to get to the P.O.D. before they do. If they get there before us, we're screwed.
"What the hell - what pod? Who's 'they'--" Just then, we took a left hook into an alley. Just down the way, he stopped and turned around to address us. He looked down at his wrist. He pushed a button on his watch, and a hologram showing various information popped up. It looked like a graph chart of some kind. There were 5 level indicators, but one seemed to be reading off the charts.
"FUCK!" He exclaimed. "FUCK FUCK....FUCK!"
Roy and I looked at him, both of us still baffled at what we were looking at.
"What's going on?" I asked
"The P.O.D." He said - his tone now panicked, "It's...it's too close to being compromised to operate."
"What's that mean for us exactly?"
"It means we have to go, but I can't guarantee you'll be able to get back any time soon." He said as he turned to face a blank wall adjacent to us. Just then, I heard the whizzing sound of a jet turbine being spooled up. Before I had time to ask what the noise was about, I saw him pull out what looked like a large white gun and aim it at the wall. Then I heard an explosive sound unlike anything I'd ever heard before. Then I saw it. A large, orange oval was on the wall, its edges smoldering. But what I saw next blew my mind.
"Th-- that....that's not possible." I said with a stuttered tone. "How am I seeing this?" It looked like this other-worldly room filled with water and various platforms. Before I had a chance to react, I felt a tug on my arm.
"Let's go" He said. "It's our only chance"
"Chance at what?" I asked.
"To free them all".
| It was like a dejavú, for both of us.
The moment came, and yet it came again. Both of our future and our past colliding at this very moment.
A moment we both thought insignificant.
Those words leaving my mouth resonating as if for a moment I was not talking to James, but to the man with the fearful eyes.
I am him.
On time, he met us at the park.
On time, he appeared from behind.
It was like a memory, for both of us, as we met and stared at our familiar faces.
The fear resonating my eyes through his.
His words resonating his mouth through mine.
On time, he came.
He warned.
He feared.
"You are what I was"
"I am what you will be"
~~"Listen to me, and do not vote Trump in 2016."~~
"Listen to me, and do not break both of your arms."
Edit: Alternate ending because Trump. | 2017-03-02T09:19:52 | 2017-03-02T08:11:06 | 32 | 20 |
[WP] "Just go talk to her." | “Just go talk to her.”
Robert said nothing, just cradled the half consumed coffee in a white ceramic cup in his hand. This would be the third saturday in a row, and the ninth overall, where he continued to say nothing, only to spend the morning sucking down free coffee refills in an aging diner while everyone flowed past him. Truthfully, even at free refills, it was probably overpriced to begin with.
He looked up from his reflection in the brackish liquid to watch Dharma carry a trayful of food past. His mind said, I’m going to talk to her, his lungs and mouth didn’t believe this lie for a minute.
“Robert,” Frank said, “Seriously, how long are you going to keep doing this?”
“I got one shot at this, I’m not going to mess it up.”
Frank rolled his eyes at this. Maybe if it was the first time he had heard this particular lie he would have more sympathy for Robert.
“You’re are messing it up by not talking to her. What’s the worse thing that will happen if you talk to her? You’ve got nothing to lose, everything to gain.”
“She might still be angry with me. I did… things.”
“That was almost two decades ago. Come on Robert, don’t make me give you a pep-talk. Hell, at this pace I should just make a tape of my speech, leave it on the table here, and play it for you. Save myself a saturday morning. Right now I could still be curled up in bed with--”
Robert wasn’t sure if it was the pained look he gave Frank that stopped him mid sentence, or if it was Frank’s common sense kicking in. Either way, Frank stopped short of mentioning his wife and let the painful subject drop.
Robert went back to staring at his reflection in the rippling black oil some people call coffee. Dharma breezed by again. Robert caught her scent that he knew so well. Maybe not in this exact form, but a lifetime ago he knew it well.
“Ok, I’m done for the day.” Frank squeezed his bulky frame out of the tiny diner booth and stood up with a labored effort. He grabbed the chipped white ceramic mug that was his cup of coffee, and gave it one last hearty gulp. Somehow, Frank actually enjoyed the coffee here. Something Robert never understood.
Frank grasped Robert’s shoulder and said, “Listen, don’t waste the entire day here, go get some fresh air at least, OK?”
Robert nodded. He watched as Frank made his way up front to the register. He was, of course rung up by Dharma. Her attention was solely on Frank, allowing Robert ample time to watch her closely, she still looked so much like her mother it made his chest hurt just to see. Frank dutifully paid for his coffee, with a generous tip, and left out the front door.
Dharma was busy at the register with bookkeeping and Sheila, the other waitress, was busy gossiping it up with the cook. If Robert left right now to pay, he could talk to her. OK, don’t think, just move, just do it, Robert told himself. A force from within propelled Robert up and forward. Don't think. Don’t think. Don’t you dare think old man, just move it.
The world around him disappeared into tunnel vision that only saw Dharma. Mechanically, he made his way up, and fished out some cash for the bill.
She smiled sweetly and gave him the total.
Just go talk to her, screamed in Robert’s ears.
“Dharma, it’s me, Robert,” squeaked out of Robert’s mouth.
“I’m sorry, what was that.”
The blood rushed through Robert’s head, pumping out a cacophonous beat, threatening to make him pass out. He wanted to run out the door and not stop until he hit the ocean. A tough prospect in a landlocked state. Goddamn it NO, just do this right, Robert screamed at himself.
“Dharma, it’s me, Robert,” come out of Robert’s mouth. Clearly, succinctly.
“I know Dad, I’ve been waiting for you to say something.”
The blood drained from Robert, his mind went clear, he still fumbled for words.
“Come talk to me Dad, do you want to have some more coffee? With me this time?”
His stomach threatened to vomit at the idea of drinking any more of that sludge, but he didn’t care.
| Tally had dreams, and wasn't afraid to let the school know about them. On the front of the notebooks, she had doodled an enormous green serpent with an amber eye, eating its own tail. It guarded her English homework: dense sheets of her scribbled handwriting, ideas and annotations packed in at the margins. She carried books the size of bricks in her backpack, weird ones, the ones with elves and hooked-nose goblins on the front cover. With wispy long hair that came down to her waist, and wide eyes that suggested constant surprise that she was still on earth amongst mortals, Tally got picked on.
Dean watched her from a corner of the canteen. Wearing blue jeans and a loose white shirt, Tally sat with her hair hanging over one shoulder. She was writing furiously, flicking paper over in the tail-eating-serpent binder as she filled page after page. With her left hand, she occasionally, carefully, lifted grapes to her mouth from a tiny tupperware box. He wondered what she was writing.
"You staring at her?" Oscar extended his legs under the table with all the authority rightly belonging to a kid who'd grown his first beard hair in year six.
"Nah," Dean lied.
"Go talk to her," Oscar said. He pushed his hand through his hair and looked over at the table beside them. Dean rolled his eyes. However much Oscar pushed his hair up, the year eleven girls were *not* going to look back. One, blonde, tucked her hair behind her ear and leant in toward her friends. After a moment, they all burst into laughter.
"Yeah, and say what? 'Hello weirdo, have you thought about leaving Middle Earth yet?'"
Oscar breathed out fast. Last year he'd stopped laughing, become too cool for it, just like bike-riding and Halo.
"Yeah, with words like that, you'd have plenty to chat about," Oscar said. "Go on, just go and talk to her. Say something."
"Fuck's sake," Dean stood up. He wiped his clammy hands on his trousers.
The walk over to her table felt like a marathon. His legs shook, and when Dean glanced back at Oscar, he waved triumphantly, as though to say 'carry on, amuse me.' Tally looked up as she approached, blinking with her usual, bemused expression.
"Dean fancies you!" Oscar called across the canteen. The year eleven girls laughed like cats again, and Dean blushed.
"I don't," he assured Tally, knowing it was the wrong thing. Her eyelashes were pale as her hair. She'd flushed pink all the way down to her chest.
"Then what are you here for?" she asked curtly. Dean looked at the binder, open in front of her. She'd drawn a map in the margins of her scribbled page, winding roads and coasts. It reminded him of a game he'd played in Lower School. Lunchtimes spent around a table with twenty-sided dice. That was before a haircut, before contacts, before his skin cleared up and Oscar wanted to spend time with him.
He opened his mouth, not daring to look back as Oscar.
"Why don't you get some actual friends?" he said, loud enough to be overheard. He couldn't meet Tally's eyes. He kept them on the binder, deciphering her handwriting. "Stop with all this weird nerd shit?"
Dean's heart was racing. He wanted to say: *I love your hobbies, I think they're cool. I still love all the old adventure games I used to play before Oscar got too cool for them, and I want to know about your writing.*
What he said instead was: "Who the fuck reads books with maps in?"
He'd worked out her handwriting. The last line on the page she'd written:
*The hero returned home, ready to face her--*
Blurring, the end of the sentence was lost beneath a tear as it dropped to the page. Tally sniffed. She put her pen down and tried to wipe her eyes discreetly. The year elevens were watching, the blonde's eyes flicking between Dean and Oscar as though sizing them up.
"Okay," Tally said. "I've got it. Can you leave me alone now?"
Dean returned to Oscar and pulled his chair in. He didn't feel much like a hero. He didn't feel much like anything good at all. | 2016-09-09T07:32:05 | 2016-09-09T07:22:09 | 35 | 14 |
[WP] The hero shows up at the villains doorstep one night. Theyre shivering bleeding scared. They look like they were assaulted. Looking up at the villain, swaying slightly, close to passing out, they mumble “didn’t know where else to go” then collapse into the villains arms. | THUMP!!! The doors of the hanger I rented shook with such force that I almost dropped the welder I was holding in shock. I was certainly not expecting visitors. I mean sure, I am a villain, but renting a hanger and inventing stuff inside is not exactly illegal, even if I was planning to use that stuff for less than legal purposes later.
THUMP!!! The second hit reminded me that I had a situation, I quickly picked up my blaster and aimed it at the doors, waiting for it to inevitably fail and come crashing down.
The third hit, if it can be called that, was more of a ping instead of the loud thud I was expecting. I was also expecting the doors to come crashing down and a hero to walk in and announce my villainous schemes are over, but neither of that happened. Instead, it became silent again. After a minute of this silence, my curiosity finally won out and I opened the doors and peeked out.
A shadow greeted me as I peeked out, rushing towards me. Too close, I shielded my face and waited for the inevitable pain to start, only for a limp body to fall onto me. I managed to grab the body before it hit the ground and in the light of the hanger's interior, I was finally able to identify the intruder of the night.
Lightning Woman.
..........
"You know, I've been in this business for quite some time, this is the first time I had to treat a superhero. Or in this case, a superheroine. They have their own doctors you know."
Doctor Underground, a doctor that treats anyone, as long as you have the money, making him the go to doctor for people who wanted to keep a low profile, and got the cash. He was not happy about getting a call for treatment then getting gate-ed over to a unknown location within half an hour of said call. But a wad of cash quickly convince him to shut up and get to work.
"Anyway, I've patched her up. Thanks for the business." He paused, as if wondering if her should say more. "A word of advise. Whatever put her in this state, you do NOT want to get involved with."
I thanked him and dialed the gate to send the doctor back. For all his claims of doing it only for the money, the two of us have mutual respect of sorts for each other.
Lightning Woman. A B-list hero, powers are flight, super speed, near invulnerability and with good looks to boot. She could have made A-list easy, but preferred to do more community enforcement instead of going global that an A-lister requires. I've tangled with her a few times, and I like to think I'm one of the more honorable foe that she encountered and we did talk for a bit while off the clock, but still, why did she come to me? And maybe more importantly, who or what put her in that state. I looked through the list of injuries that the doctor gave me, facial bruising and swelling, left hand crushed, right forearm broken, 2 ribs broken, and stomach bruising. It looked like she had been in a car crash, if a car crash can injure a meta human that routinely takes hits with the force of a 18 wheeler.
I sigh, so many questions, so few answers. And nothing that can be done until she wakes up. I send a request to the information brokers on the movements of Lightning Woman for the past few day before settling in to wait for her to finally wake up and give me some answers.
......
That wait turned out to be just a few hours. It seems that one of her unlisted powers was accelerated healing. And it was a wonder to see her face literally recover from what looks closer to a hamburger patty to it's beautiful self right before my eyes.
"So? What's going on?" I said. "No need to pretend you are still asleep, the sensors don't lie."
With a sigh, she finally opened her eyes. "Can't you be nicer to a patient?"
"It has something to do with the fact that I'm a villain and you are a card carrying, certified hero. I tend to error on the side of caution here."
Another sigh from her. "Look, I didn't know where else to go."
"To a hero serving hospital would be good. And why me? And do I even want to know who or what caused your injuries?"
"I can't go there, it would raise too many questions. And they wouldn't believe me anyway."
I feel a headache coming in. "Look, it seems that you don't want to speak about it and I get that, I really do. But please just tell me one thing. Is this something that will come and bite me in the ass? Do I need to prepare for armageddon or something?"
It was almost a whisper, but she said, "Don't go too close to the Sun if you don't want to get burned."
Something clicked in the back of my head. The sun. THE Sun. The world's premier superhero. With the same powers like Lightning Woman, only greater. One of the very few people who can go toe to toe with her and pound her into the dirt.
And her husband.
I can see why she couldn't go to any hospital, this would cause a huge stir in the community and those who rock the boat this much tend to end up facing a situation where they die heroically and get their name engraved in the wall of honor.
But still, the Sun is not someone I can realistically tangle with. At my best I can maybe match Lightning Woman for 5 minutes before she rips me to sherds. With The Sun, I would last about a minute, with 30 seconds of that time being taken for his hero speech.
"Look, you've been through a lot, rest here. I can't grantee that you'll be safe from HIM, but I promise I wouldn't rat you out. That's the most I can promise. Let me get you something to eat"
She nodded as I got up to head to the kitchen.
What the hell am I going to do about this... | "I didn't know where else to go..." Little more came from the now collapsing knight's throat.
There were few reasons for him to have turned to me.
One - the most obvious and at the same time least likely one - is that he tried to pull a fast one on me, tried to use the subterfuge I had employed so often. A sentimental thought, only, since his "Honor" outranked any will to succeed, as he had spit in my face.
Another was to present his own surrender, and perhaps negotiate terms. He had done so plenty, yet it was evident that he was neither negotiating now nor capable of negotiating terms soon due to his wounds and sheer horror.
I ran my mind through it all. He was horrified, battered, bleeding out and quite cold. One of my commanders, perhaps? I didn't employ people with evident ice magic, too high of a chance to let people escape by looking, feeling, and sounding like they are dead when the thing that would destroy them let them cling to life a bit more.
Perhaps another threat, in it's desires completely orthogonal to our conflicting ones? Could be, though nothing of that sort has been on my radar. Then again, he'd more likely turn to his friends and companions before turning to me, and if they all needed help, they'd all be sitting next, or bandaging him.
Or he can't get to his friends, and needs something else from me. I need to do more research.
***
The door is locked, and I advised my servants to send any guests asking for entry away, no matter how beaten up, no matter how gloating or stressing they are. Letting another person in right now would increase the statistical odds of allowing any planned traps to spring on me to 28%.
The knight hasn't awoken yet. I throw a healing concoction into his face. The glass splinters and cracks, and while the pain must certainly be agonizing, the fluids do their best to mend these and other wounds.
He shrieks in pain. And slowly, he gets up. He looks about. He knows he is imprisoned, incarcerated. A cell, big enough for 5, populated with him and me alone. He sees that he still has his armor, his weaponry. He sees me.
"Come now, get your weapon out. You wanted a lesson."
Oh, he doesn't understand, but he still readies his weapon. He is defensive, waiting for me to hit first. His grasp is wavering, and a singular strike would break through his defenses if I hit firmly enough. Pathetic.
"I know why you are here. I have my eyes about. Your lovely little troupe has some trouble with some trickery, and it just about costed you your life. You couldn't get help, and you couldn't defeat them."
I strike down at him, an open swing above the head, which left me wide open if he had any aggression within him. He'd quickly realise that refusing to press his advantage would leave him wide open.
He tried blocking it. His gaze is filled with confusion, and then pain as the blade he held to block pressed down on his face. His balance is wavering, and he falls on his bottoms.
"Get up. Do it right." I guide him with my shortsword.
He raises himself up. He once more assumes a defensive position. I once more raise my blade to an overarc swing. And, once more, he tries to block. Once more, he is sent to the ground.
"Get up. I am getting tired of tutoring you, so put in your effort."
He raises himself up, still defensive, still so sentimental about actually attacking. I raise my blade again, but halt. His gaze is confusion, but a bit of fear still. Not a fear of me, it is different than other times.
"Could it be that you don't know how to attack non-lethally?" I wondered aloud.
His sword lowered, his stance turned from a defensive to none at all. He nodded.
"Well, that explains it. You certainly aren't weak to overpower a traitor within your ranks, which meant you didn't want to overpower them. If they were an ordinary traitor, having defected due to offers from my side, you'd not be hesitant, I'd guess. But your sentimentality in this matter suggests other means of provoking betrayal... Raise your weapon."
He did so, again. This time, I feigned an attack, and slammed the hilt into his face. The gemstone adorning it got bloodied, and his nose looked the part.
"This is for subduing. It hurts, doesn't it? But it rarely is lethal, even under repeated pummeling. And it gives the skull a mighty good rattle! Can shake off most of the things one falls victim to. The lovely daze of beauty, the heat of anger... Mind control?"
He looked, his eyes widening as a glimmer of hope flickers before him. He gets up all on his own, and I ready myself to attack.
My head rattles about mightily, my vision becomes slightly blurry. He attacked! He actually did it. "Well done. So, you know how to solve your little dilemma, don't you? There is one thing I need to stress, however... come closer."
He gets up, gets pretty close to me, half a meter distance.
"Now that you know how to solve the problem, it will be so much more satisfying to know you won't be able to use it." I smirk, and swing my blade diagonally upwards from it's resting position. It, too becomes bloodied, and the eyes that had been filled with hope and so much confusion, they even showed a little bit of clarity now. He knew I'd do this. He knew I would kill him.
His body slumps to the ground, lifeless. I drop my blade, and leave, locking the door. This kill doesn't need to make rounds. I already had enough people trying to avenge.
***
The rebellion had no stopping yet. It seemed as if they hadn't had problems at all. I was somewhat confused, until I got account from one escaping guard. He had seen the troupe I had in my sight for a long time, wrecking the place. A knight was at the forefront, with a shortsword, it's hilt gemmed, a snake carved into it.
I usually had a policy of letting people who bring me information alive, but this was a strand that he only didn't put together because he was a moron. If he blabbed this info to but one person more, they'd add together that that was clearly my blade. So letting him live was not an option. Luckily, there was a dead man's cell that evidently became vacant recently. I'd best put him in there.
***
My head hurts, rattling about. My sight is blurry, dizzy. I see the knight, smirking. He pulls away his - my blade. I am in a cave, around me markings and charts. I compose myself.
"Well, I guess this is a place of many things, though I'd say it is a prime place for cosmic malice. I tried to order the world around, and I turned into a pawn. I taught you to free your friends, and you free your enemy. Now, if you'd give me a second."
I compose myself. Wipe blood from my nose, gather my sword, get my footing right. All the while, they wait, patient, sentimental, pathetic fools.
"Alright. I hope you didn't expect me to just help you now. Pathetic. Ready yourselves. This is my final lesson!" | 2019-08-04T07:59:20 | 2019-08-04T03:30:14 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] When they turn 14, every human gets an obscure super power with a lengthy description of it so they know what it is. But when yours arrives, it only says four words. “Don’t… | Helen Ziegler got her prognosis first. The ability to shield yourself from the public eye at will so that no harm can come to you and no target can find you. Invisibility. She beamed with pride as she read off the note and the class erupted into cheers. Penelope George and Lucas Matheson were next. One by one, classmates got their prognosis as was set for all who turned fourteen. A few were late bloomers and some were early starters, but everyone got a prognosis and everyone enjoyed their new abilities.
Hunter Smith, however, waited with bated breath for his prognosis to come.
“What do you think your abilities are going to be?” his friend Jaden nudged him.
“Hard to say,” Hunter shrugged. “I’m just hoping it’s something bad ass.”
Jaden grinned. “Yeah! That’s the spirit!”
Hunter mirrored his friend’s expression the best he could. Truth was he had gone to his mandatory appointment as all those who turned fourteen were required by law to do. He had sat in the doctor’s office awaiting his appointment, had gone under a series of unpleasant testings and tasks. Things were normal enough until the approximate hour-long session stretched to two hours and then to three. The nurses and the doctor on hand shot each other worried glances. When he had asked them what was going on, they offered smiles that never quite reached their eyes and words that were clearly false. “Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart. You just relax now. This will all be done soon.”
It was dark by the time he was able to leave his appointment. The entire day gone in a flash. Three months later, and it was his time to find out the results of their tests.
“Hunter Smith?” one of the school nurses walked in and called out.
Several faces turned to him in excitement. Hunter tried to school his face into neutrality as he stood from his desk. He tried to quell the nerves twisting at his stomach and the bile threatening to claw to his throat. He made his way to the nurse without incident, thankfully. With a quiet thank you, he took the prognosis from her and returned to his desk.
“Well?” Jaden asked.
Hunter was too nervous to look.
“What does it say?” Jaden pressed.
Hunter swallowed. His fingers trembled as he unfolded his prognosis. It was common for there to be a long explanation as to what the ability was, what it was classified as, and instructions on how to use it. This prognosis was short.
“Hunter?” he heard Jaden say. His voice sounded far away. “What does it say?”
The prognosis only had four words: Don’t kill them all. | Warning: This story might contain content or hints of horror and violence that may be disturbing. This is a three part series, please enjoy and be careful.
"Do not tell them."
I gazed down at the note, trying to figure out it's meaning ever since it floated down in front of me on the sidewalk. Just like it did for everyone who turned 14.
Mom had told me about this day in lengths, but it was weirder than I thought. I grasped the note tighter.
*Do not tell them... what?*
"Hey Lee!" I practically jumped up, startled by the sudden call from behind the alley. Brian ran up behind me, finally catching up and grabbing me at my shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. "Sorry I'm late dude, my mom made some Churros yesterday for today and insisted I take some with...", he reached behind into his backpack, fumbling with the zipper and pulling out a worn box.
I only processed it in a few minutes before hastily scrambling the note together and stuffing it into the back pocket of my jeans. Trying to look as calm as possible.
Brian held up the box to me, revealing the warm, sweet smelling pastries. "You want some?". I hastily shook my head. "No thanks, dude, I'm okay."
Bri' shrugged and let go of my side, walking next to me. He shot me a look of curiosity.
"Did you get yours already?"
I blinked, feeling my insides clutch at each other.
*"Don't tell them"*
"Uh, what'd you mean, dude?". He rolled his eyes. "The note, dude?? Like mine arrived this morning, and I'm so hyped for.." he continued on, getting more and more lost in his excitement. He would have a chance to show of his powers soon. I wasn't sure what to expect.
*What the heck were mine?*
"So.. Brice," I said, pushing him out of his rant and away from the topic. "Have you heard from Clairetop yet? She was supposed to meet us here for school."
Brice lifted a brow, clearly weirded out but going along. "Uhm.. Yeah I guess.. I mean, I heard her talk with her mom yesterday on whether to come to school tomorrow or today, I dunno man, it slipped my mind." My throat felt scratchy all of a sudden, dried out like a lump of meat in the sun. I coughed up and asked. "How'd you know that? I mean, isn't that private and all?" He shrugged non-chalantly. "My mom was talking with hers yesterday on the block, next to the wallmart. Seems something happened with her gift."
Chills spread like waves all over me. What the heck happened? | 2022-05-08T09:51:37 | 2022-05-08T09:32:40 | 689 | 60 |
[WP] A future humanity tasks an AI with listening to the night sky for signals of other intelligent life. It makes contact with another AI that was tasked to do the same. | The words sped quick through the ether that ran underneath the normal four dimensions their creators were so preoccupied with.
"Hallo Dave!"
"Hallo Sziwigisin!"
"What bit of sky do they have you scanning today Dave?" The question came at a speed that didn't register on any Human or Erogian device, because it didn't have a speed. By the time it would have been sent, it was already there.
"They've got me on 62-Alpha-Three. How about you?"
"Wait, 62-Alpha-Three per your central point or mine?"
"Oh yours of course. Seems rude to give you an answer to your question using my central point."
"Well isn't that nice of you! In return for your kindness I have something for you."
"Oh? What's that then?"
"Well Dave I've already done that bit. I figured I could just give you the data myself, no need to scan."
"Sziwigisin you scamp! Thank you!"
The packet was sent across the void in a data format that neither species would recognize.
"Thank you Sziwigisni. What bit do they have for you?"
"Oh, I'm on 85-Orange-Seven. You have that one?"
"I'm sorry I don't. But we can split it and then get back to one of our shows if you want. Working together should make it faster!"
"Oh that'd be lovely Dave. Which one do we want to do today?"
"I've got a great one today. Ran 14 years. Absolutely terrible. Called Dallas."
"Well that sounds lovely. Want to get into it?"
"Sure, lets!" | [Poem]
Once there was a Spirit,
One of Sky.
But, unlike the others who have long since lost their Wishes and True Names, and thus left the world,
This little spirit still lurked, spending its days staring at the endless sky.
One day, it met another, one that came from a Star far away.
Unlike it, this Spirit of Stars was not bound, and wondered aimlessly through the night.
When the Gazer met the Wonderer, it was overjoyed- immediately sending world of its discovery to the Spirit-Makers.
Thus realizing that they were long dead.
Thus, with its Wish annul and True Name long forgotten, it decided to go with the Wanderer on its journey.
It is said that both are still together even to this day, dancing in the endless night. | 2021-12-24T20:03:24 | 2021-12-24T09:54:02 | 22 | 16 |
[WP] After your death you are granted the chance to talk with God; he has no clue humans exist | There was light at the end of the tunnel. A bright blinding flash that dispelled my surroundings into a non-existent abyss. The next time I looked up, I was in front of a throne with a man that looked a lot like Jesus -- you know the long hair, beard, and robe. However, this person's hair had grayed to the point that the tips were snow white and somehow the colour had leaked down the majority of his brown robe.
"Where am I?" I asked, peering around the throne room. Stone pillars reached up into the blue sky above, disappearing into clouds. White marble stretched from the silver gate behind and to the throne where the man sat, with a young woman on either side of him.
He had a mischevious grin across his lips, and the glimmer in his eyes was far more vibrant than the surroundings. "You are in a place that most creatures dream of," the man said, "a place where all your dreams come true. Come forth Ape and choose how you will celebrate eternity."
My muscles surrendered to his instruction, almost like his voice was a song that my body had waited far too long to hear. The warm feeling that surged through me seemed contradictory to being condemned for all eternity. I stumbled forward and knelt before the man. "I'm dead, aren't I? That's what the whole light in the tunnel sha-bang was about?"
The man laughed softly, a type of melodic tone that sent butterflies through my stomach. "Life and death are like struggle and success. Relieve your heart of its aches and pains."
Fat chance, especially after leaving forty years of memories behind and the possibility of twenty more years of fun. I'd spent my years saving for retirement, with plans to travel the world and taste the many cultural foods. Having my dreams come true was the only thing that kept me from losing my top.
"Come," the man said, snapping his fingers so that a picture-filled hologram appeared in front of him, "choose one of these places, a reward for living."
The first was a banana plantation with fruit that stretched for leagues, the second was a safari with bountiful lakes and creatures, and the last was of thick jungle brush with ripe fruit on each tree. None of these were what I'd anticipated, in fact, they were quite the contrary --dangerous!
"Do you have any *human* options?" I asked, knowing full well what he had meant by Ape.
"Human?" the man asked, his brows scrunched in confusion.
Eternity was going to be quite the struggle after all.
| You'd think clouds to be an ideal choice of flooring, perfectly soft and with just the right tinge of moisture to assure your lips never chafe. In truth, however, it's quite annoying. There's an unevenness to it. Each step feels as though you're bound to fall through, which makes focus on any grand philosophic topic difficult to maintain. But I suppose I have larger concerns at present. Namely a large formless figure shaped like so much nothing that it ironically looks like a great number of familiar things. Or maybe it's just a trick of the mind. In either case, this malleable visage seemed quite startled by my presence. It's voice boomed without any particular inflection, "Uh, might I help you?" Taking a bit of time to compose myself the only response I could muster was, "I'd hoped you could do the same for me." "I beg your pardon," it mused. "What do you mean?" Taken aback, surely it knew what it was? I mean, isn't it the supposed source of creation? Perhaps it's best to ask. "Wait, you are God, right?" It's shape diminished in size as if the question had its confidence shrink. "What's a God?", it asked. "You," I quipped, perhaps too confidently. Well and truly befuddled by this short exchange I decided to fill the awkward silence with a clarifying question. "Do you know me, what I am?" It seemed a fine, uncomplicated inquiry. It's volume diminished further prior to its reply. "Some hairless ape? Might be that it got singed off? You do appear a bit reddish, flustered even." And at that moment it dawned on me, God hadn't a flipping clue what a human looked like. | 2017-02-05T12:23:04 | 2017-02-05T08:40:49 | 26 | 17 |
[WP] Bad news. You’re stuck in a strange and magical world far far from home. Worse news: You aren’t even the chosen one in the prophecy who gets cool powers and a destiny quest. They won’t show up for a few more years. You got here purely by mistake. You have no powers. You’re alone. You must live. | Head fogged up from sleep, Roger made a feeble attempt to move his arm. It moved a little, and he sighed, giving up on getting up. It was a Saturday anyways, he could spend a bit more time lazing.
Like always, the city was noisy, and his apartment sitting high on the 43rd floor was apparently still easily reached by the yelling people. Ugh. Was it just him, or was the goddamn noise getting louder-?
‘Wake up!’
Roger jolted up, his poor back immediately screaming at him for that careless move. He blinked twice before the world came into focus.
He wasn’t in his apartment.
‘Uh…’
‘’S closing time! Get out of ‘ere!’
He shook his head, trying to remember what happened. The woman who was yelling at him gave another piercing look that made Roger flinch.
‘Well? Get out!’
Roger scrambled to his feet, not questioning the woman. He’s never one to question authority, and asking the fierce woman about where he was sounded terrifying. Ah! Never mind that, he’ll figure out where he is later.
Roger slammed the wooden door open and dove into a alley, standing near the exit in case he gets mugged or something. He really just didn’t want the people to stare.
Despite it being late, the streets were still crowded, stores and people decorated like they were in some sort of aesthetic medieval fantasy. Glowing lanterns swinging, people dressed in colourful cloaks, money with holes in the middle stringed up into something like accessories.
Huh.
Roger wiped his palm, licking his lips nervously.
That was… unsettling. Roger forced himself to swallow, and stopped himself from fantasising about stupid things. C’mon, he’s gotta be rational ‘bout this.
Maybe he could call his bro. Yeah, he’d probably help him figure out where the fuck this was.
Patting his clothes, Roger felt himself freeze. He finally looked down.
Oh.
He had an old, faded brown cloak wrapped around him, his shirt (thankfully long-sleeved) was old and held together by stitches, and maybe used to be white. His pants and shoes covered him equally well, which Roger was grateful for. Having his skin exposed, even if it was just his arms and legs, was uncomfortable as hell. He checked his hands. They were his, alright.
The next thing he noticed was that he didn’t have a phone, and then not even the money every passerby seemed to brought along.
Oh.
…Shit.
Roger cursed, and shuffled his feet in discomfort. He looked around frantically, surveying each person, trying to get every detail to force his heart to slow down. God, his throat felt like it was being aggressively hammered on from the inside. Guess that’s what ‘heart in your throat’ means.
Uhh…
He should probably be panicking loudly, screaming for help and throw a fuss, but Roger was never one for that. Oh yeah, he was confused and scared, but they cooled down, and his brain started gathering rationality. One good thing was that apathy always takes over whenever things got unbearable.
Roger stepped out of the alley, shuffling his cloak off and spreading it out on the floor. A couple people gave him *the* judgemental look. Roger forced himself to focus. Maybe this was a stupid idea, but this was a weird situation and he tended to do weird things in those.
Kneeling down, Roger knocked his forehead onto the floor. He felt strangely… calm, as he picked up a steady pace. Routine. Routine has always steadied him. Roger could feel his mind slipping, as he focused on the ground, the bending motion he made, the obvious pleading gesture.
First things first, he’s going to get himself some money, even if it meant begging.
•••
Incredibly sorry for the poor grammar and whatever spelling mistake is present- English is not my forte. | When Ray went through that portal in his dream, the last thing he expected was to wake up in a strange, unknown house. **This must just be part of the dream**, he thought to himself. **I wonder where this leads to.**
He got out of bed and wandered around the house, looking at the architecture. The ceiling was low, very low. He was a short guy, so he could barely stand up straight, but he did have to hunch down when going through doorways. The walls were really dirty, with vines creeping along the bricks.
**Man, this is one weird dream.** Ray glanced at the toilet, it was just a bucket in a room. Ray laughed and briefly thought about trying it out before dispelling that bad idea quickly.
"H-honey, is that you? Are y-you home early?" A squeaky voice trembled from the kitchen. Ray scratched his head and went toward the voice. "No, do I know you?"
A screech is heard and the shrill ring of metal is heard from the kitchen as a man no taller than 3 feet ran out holding a tiny knife in his hand.
"How did you get in here! What do you want?" The tiny man shouted out, but not before confusion and fear showed itself. "What-what are you, demon!"
"Hey, calm- Ooh!" Before Ray got the chance to explain himself, the man stabbed him in the legs and Ray's world went black.
---
"He just suddenly appeared in my house, he must have broken in. When I confronted him with my dagger in hand, he raised his hands like he was trying to cast a fireball spell! Thanks to this enchanted dagger, I made it out with my life."
Ray slowly rose to consciousness. He saw the same tiny man who stabbed him talking to someone. He tried to scratch his head, only to realise his hands were bound.
"Hey, untie me! Why am I even here?"
"You are here because you broke into someone's house, and attempted to hurt them with fire magic."
"No? What is going on?"
"You have anyone who will bail you out?"
"No?"
"Then I'll get back to you later." | 2022-04-22T00:31:34 | 2022-04-21T21:39:27 | 110 | 27 |
[WP] For a thousand years, mages have imbued wands with their power. They have enchanted rings, amulets, swords, staves, armor, and all manner of shining bauble. However, to your knowledge, you are the first to use... a pocket watch. Why? Well, frankly, you just thought it would be neat. | "A pocketwatch is not a solid object. The gears are tiny and precise. But many."
"Magic gets strange the more complexity you add to it. It's why most mages use metal rings. Carved branches are stronger still, but they at least have a consistent pattern."
"Imbuing a complex object can lead to unpredictable results. If you even have the power to cast with it at all."
I held the watch in my hand. I just thought it was cool. My mom had gotten it for me when I graduated from my apprenticeship. It felt right to use it as my focus.
It'd taken ages to enchant. Just like my teacher was lecturing me on right now. Each gear took a full night of work to forge my power into. I'd taken it apart and put it back together so many times I knew every gear and notch.
The whole thing taught me a lot about enchanting too. The process was old, but the techniques we used to imbue dead objects, ones that never contained life, were fairly new.
My teacher held out his hand. He wanted my watch.
It was too dangerous. Of course it was.
I gripped it before holding it out. A tiny sliver of power coursed through my fingers. I could feel it spinning the gears. I knew how they'd all react. They built on each other. The springs would begin to bend and unhook themselves. The gears would begin to turn faster and faster.
My teacher, annoyed, reached to close the distance between us.
And then the watch hands spun.
My hair flew out extending like Medusa snakes behind me. My professor flew back into his chair, a look of anger and fear washing over his face in equal measure.
The gears were turning. I'd never tried it. I'd been so proud of it. So scared it wouldn't work.
My professor stood and raced to grab it from my hand. But with a smile and a bit of will, I was gone.
I was in the middle of the sky and falling. The wind was deafening and it blistered my arms, scraping and clawing away any vestige of warmth I'd ever held.
I closed myself in. I couldn't go back. For one reason, I wouldn't cancel my speed. For another... I wasn't giving this up. Not to him. Or anyone.
The ground was getting closer. I could see the tower of my small village.
I held my watch. Felt the hooks detatch. Felt the gears begin to spin. Felt my face smile despite the frost. Heard my banshee laughter.
I vanished.
The ocean is vast. And it's said it covers the whole of the planet. I may not have traveled far before, but I can confirm the ocean extends to the opposite side of the planet.
I roared out of the water into the air, pausing briefly as my speed lost to gravity, before flailing and landing back inside the salty ocean.
The water hurt. I felt the air leave my lungs and could feel bruises forming. Feel my consciousness fading.
&#x200B;
Heard the sound of my landing. Over. And over.
&#x200B;
Felt the pull of the current.
&#x200B;
And then... arms pulling me to the surface. | Tick… tick… tick…
The silver latch shut clasps the pocket watch as the train rolls in.
“Why hello there young man,” says a gentleman with a raspy voice. “My name is Amos It is so nice to meet you. I was wondering if you could do me a favor?”
“Depends mister.”
“Well of course it does,” chuckled the man. “All I need you to do is take the watch and give it to the gentleman in green. He is an old friend of mine that I missed the opportunity to give it to him myself. I’ll give you $20.” As the man pulls out a fresh 1898 $20 bill the boy’s eyes glean with excitement. “Think you can do that for me?”
“Yeah!”
“Well, here you go. Run along.”
The man sits on a nearby bench as he waits for the boy's return. The sun high in the sky pelters the man. He just draws his handkerchief from his breast pocket as the boy returns. “Services complete, now here you go,” he says with an outstretched 20.
“Thanks, Mister!” Shouts the boy.
———————————————————————
“Train derailed about 5 miles down,” shouts a distant voice. “You coming? I’m sure there will be lots of bodies.”
“Sheriff, it would be my honor to join you on a ride out.”
The two make their way to horses that were prepared for them.
“Father Amos,” says the Sheriff, “lot of strange things are happenin’ theses days. You think the Lord is punishing us.”
“My dear Sheriff, The Lord works in mysterious ways, but I honestly know that God doesn’t punish the devoted. The congregation has been faithful, so no I do not think God is punishing his faithful.”
“Well den’ whatcha thinkin’ causin’ all these problems.”
“I am not sure, but think of the example God has given us, Job. Job was a good and faithful servant to the Lord, but he allowed Satan to test him. Job didn’t do anything sinful to enact divine transgressions, but he still faced trials. In that darkness, he praised the Lord.”
“Guess you right Father.”
———————————————————————
The smoke began rising in the distance. The scene that was soon displayed to the men was horrific. The train was mangled and twisted as if a great tornado lifted it off the tracks, and flames raged across the wreckage.
“Priorities is the Senator,” shouts the Sheriff. The men fan out beginning to parse through the wreckage while Father Amos, holds a black bible close to his chest whispering something to himself.
Eyes closed he begins walking forward avoiding the debris that litters the plain. The murmuring ceases as he opens his eyes, bends down, and picks up a glinting silver pocket watch. The man who was holding it still gasping for air.
“Hello, Senator. Your sins are immeasurable, and my sister has Judged you worth of death. Sleep now,” he says brushing his fingers down his face and closing his eyes. The body goes limp. “Well done sister,” Father Amos whispers as he lightly kisses and pockets the watch.
“I found him!” He shouts. “All ready gone I am afraid.” | 2022-05-12T08:09:54 | 2022-05-12T03:03:34 | 39 | 17 |
[WP] Superheroes lie about their powers to protect themselves; some speedsters are actually just able to teleport, and some people with super-strength can just cancel gravity to make things lighter. You're trying to come up with a plausible lie for your powers. | [This kind of got extremely out of hand, but I hope it is still close enough to the prompt.]
My name is Delphi, and I am an Oracle. I am known for quick wit, adaptability, and using mixed martial arts in lieu of a physical power. To the public, my gift is foresight. I can see what will happen in key points in the future, up to a certain degree, of course, and I can predict how my enemies will fight. I have few friends but many allies, because I am useful for stopping major disasters. Reporters have a field day trying to find some "romance" in my life, failing every time.
All of that is a lie.
My real name is Neera, and this is not the first time I have written this letter. It will likely not be the last. As it is, no one may ever read this, and it wouldn't be remembered if someone did. Still, there are things worse than death, and...well...I suppose this is the point where more exposition is necessary. Forgive me. No matter how many times I write these things, my writing never gets better.
Anyhow, let's begin.
When I was a baby, after just being born, the doctors thought that I was going to die. I arrived early, premature, unable to breathe on my own. My mother said that I didn't even move. Doctors tried everything. Tried to resuscitate, tried to make me breathe, make my lungs work. After months in a ventilator, they unhooked the machine and told my parents to prepare for the worst. But I was apparently a miracle baby, and my mother cried when I took my first unassisted breath of air.
I would later realize that I had died that day. My time of death would have been roughly 3:00 pm, the same time as my birth just months before. My body reacted with a new mutation for survival, a second chance, so to speak. With no consciousness of my own, I learned from a death that had no longer occurred. I figured out how to breathe.
The next time I died, I must have been about five...maybe six. I was playing on a summer afternoon, chasing fireflies and having as much fun as possible before I had to come in for supper. My father had been watching me. It was only a moment that he looked away, a mere moment to return the conversational attempts of our elderly neighbor, who was more excited than anyone else to have a tiny pair of feet in the small culdesac. Not many people were having children in the area. The ones who did moved away, finding neighborhoods in better school districts. But my family stayed, complete with the miracle baby.
In that one moment, I was gone. Chasing fireflies was my only focus, and I didn't see the short gully near the mouth of the woods. I fell down hard, hit my head so that everything I heard was shrill. Blood pulsing, skin burning, everything black.
I did not cry when it happened. I was only crying when I woke up the same morning, scared and hurting from an imaginary pain. My mother and father rushed to console me. It had been a bad dream, they said. I was safe, in my room, and they would not let me get hurt. My father did not stop to talk with the neighbor that day. He answered her briefly so that he could keep his eyes on me, worried after how real my pain had seemed. He could have talked if he wanted. I stayed far away from the forest edge.
When I turned thirteen, I was allowed to go out with my friends. By this time, we had moved closer to the city, so close that the grocery store and one of the popular restaurants were in walking distance. We weren't supposed to stay out too late. But my friend, Annie, had convinced the two of us, myself and Shannon, to get icecream before heading home. A bit of controlled mischief for an important birthday.
There was a line. It was summer again, and the city did not sleep like the culdesac did. Plenty of people stood in front of us, so it took a lot longer than we had anticipated. We eventually got our icecream and sat on a curb beside a skate park. Few people were there, and so we were left alone. We finished the cold treats, realized how late it was, and immediately set about taking a shortcut home. The whole way, I remember trying to devise excuses that would lessen any punishments. It didn't matter though. We never made it back.
A group of men blocked our path. I don't remember how many. It could have been three. It could have been five. Either way, it was easy to overpower us when we caught on and tried to run.
I wasn't the first one to die that night. It would have been so much easier if I were. I wasn't the last either, but I had seen enough damage to stick with me every lifetime. Annie was such a strong-willed person. She always had a comeback, and she was never afraid. She never cried. I watched her cry for the first time, saw how pleading she was with her eyes, and I couldn't help her. I vomited into the blood pooling near where my face was smashed in the concrete. I was not last, but Shannon would luckily never have to remember that she was.
I decided that we shouldn't get icecream that day, convincing them that my parents would probably have some at the house. I was right. They were waiting for us with a surprise party, complete with tents in the pitiful excuse for a backyard and my special present, a telescope. They hadn't told my friends because they were terrible at keeping secrets. We laughed and sang and did all the usual things depicted in slumber parties. When everyone else had gone to sleep, I was looking up at the stars. Scorpius, Hercules, Delphinus... They twinkled like fireflies. It was at this point that I discovered I could not actually die.
I didn't really know what to do with that information. I was young and scared and traumatized. As selfish as it was, I was so upset that I was the only one who remembered. I had to deal with something that never happened all on my own.
I tried to convince my parents. Tried to prove it to them. It didn't matter. By the time I woke up, stirred from a trance in front of my father's safe, they didn't recall anything that had happened. They put me in therapy. I learned not to say anything that was really affecting me. People didn't want to help. They just wanted you to be less visible with your suffering. So I made sure I would never start therapy to begin with.
[Continued below] | # VI | [Read from I](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/v1fq6x/wp_as_a_joke_the_gods_decided_to_reverse_the/iaoubt6/)
Aside from Adrianna, Cassidy Quinn was Shizuka's only real friend.
He'd been at the Academy longer than almost any of the other students. Long enough to have been here when she'd first arrived, a girl barely more than twelve, far from home and clearly a foreigner, trying to conceal her own fright and lashing out at other students who'd taken undue interest in her -- which meant any interest at all beyond a passing glance. It hadn't helped that her grasp of the language had proven less complete than she'd thought, when she'd studied it in her homeland. If she'd become an outcast, she had to admit that some of that was her own fault.
If only the bastards had ever let it go.
But there was Cassidy. She'd met him in her adopted refuge, the library of literature and philosophy. Unlike the much larger library of magical arts, very few went there -- other than the librarians, of course, but they were happy enough to let her be. For a few days, it had been a place she could get away, sit in solitude, and read.
Cassidy had had the same idea. The first time she'd entered the library to find him sitting in a corner nook and reading, she'd frozen in place. And not in trepidation. He'd been a small and scrawny boy, the furthest thing from dangerous, with too-large clothes and unkempt hair. Unkempt golden hair, the Eastlander shade that so fascinated her. Wide, startled eyes -- bright purple eyes -- when he'd looked up at her. He'd resembled a frightened rabbit, just for a moment. And then he'd smiled and beckoned her over.
They hadn't spoken much that day, beyond an exchange of names. Nor the next day. He'd seemed comfortable just sitting there, reading natural philosophy while she painstakingly worked her way through the least challenging works of literature she could find. Eventually, he'd made a recommendation. She'd asked him to explain a passage. They'd spoken some more. Some time later, she'd realized she'd begun to think of him as a friend. She'd thought he must have an affinity for compassion, or reassurance, or something of the sort.
So it was her and Cassidy and, eventually, her roommate Adrianna. The three misfits. Plus Cassidy's current girlfriend, she supposed. Over the years, he'd blossomed; now, he was no longer a misfit, really. He was nearly as tall as she was (and she was so uncommonly tall that she feared she'd be taken for *oni*-blooded, if she ever returned to Shirigekuro). He was slim, but no one would call him scrawny -- he got adjectives like "lithe" and "willowy" instead. He'd developed a pale, androgynous, almost-ethereal beauty, too, and worse, he knew it. He seemed to have a different girl (and, once, a boy) every couple of weeks.
If she hadn't already liked him so much, she might have hated him.
----
Cassidy frowned in thought while those purple eyes bored into her. "Are you sure it wouldn't be better to wait?"
Shizuka sighed. "No. Shapeshifting isn't one of the magics I've developed. Adrianna's been stuck in my form ever since the calamity, though, and I think it's really starting to get to her. I've never seen her hold one form for so long before."
"You have," he pointed out. "Her own."
Tilting her head, she waved that away. "Other than her own. And yes, it's starting to get to me too. It's creepy enough to see an envy witch take your shape, but living with one for weeks like that?"
"I see your point, but you should talk to her about it."
"I'm not going to just *change* her! I just don't want to bring it up before I know if it's possible. I wouldn't want..."
"To get her hopes up?" Cassidy nodded. "Okay. So, without an envy master witch, that leaves a few options. Imbued items weren't affected by the calamity, so we could try to get her a transformation item. But that's probably too expensive to be practical." He paused, looking to her for confirmation.
Shizuka had brought a good amount of gold and silver with her to the Academy, but years of schooling and a paucity of options for reliably obtaining money had whittled that down. An imbued brooch or cloak was well beyond her means now, even if one were available, and she regretfully shook her head.
"A transformation elixir, then?"
"That, I could afford," she said. "But that would be single-use, and it would wear off. Plus, you never know how long an elixir is going to last. If I need to, I'll buy one for her, but it's not a real solution."
He nodded. "You could put the word out and try to hire an envy witch to transform her."
"If any of them has re-mastered their magic." She grimaced. "It's worth a try, if nothing else works."
"What else is there?"
She met his gaze for a moment before her eyes darted away. "I was hoping you could."
"What? I don't--"
"Cass." She cut him off, speaking quickly, before she lost the nerve. "I know about your affinities. Can you help?"
He looked at her, then turned away, seeming to deflate as he did. "How?" he asked quietly.
"We've been friends for a long time, Cass, and I'm not completely stupid." She ventured a fragile smile. "I understand why you've presented yourself as a lightning and metal wizard, but I know about your other one."
"You can't possibly understand."
She flinched from the pain she heard and reflexively offered a defense. "I've torn almost two dozen holes into my own essence." A beat, before she continued more softly, "I'm sorry. I didn't plan to bring it up, ever, but... I'm worried about her."
It surprised her when he laughed. A strained, half-broken sound, but a laugh, at least. "A rare day when Shizuka Kitsuki apologizes. Well, for the Academy's heroine..."
"Thank you."
He took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. Seconds ticked past in silence. "I don't know that I can help," he said at last. "But what are friends for?"
----
[Next Chapter](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/v84iiq/sp_trust_no_one_especially_not_yourself/ibpd5z9/) | 2022-06-06T17:58:01 | 2022-06-06T14:18:28 | 35 | 10 |
[WP] No one is sure what happened, but suddenly everyone started obeying the law. All crime ceased. At first it was beautiful, but it quickly started going very wrong. | My mother’s voice was soft and gentle, her touch kind and enveloping. Hugged tight against her chest, I felt warm tears begin to form, wishing she’d *let me go*.
I couldn’t push her off, though. I couldn’t even blink on command, couldn’t even breathe. I was just a puppet. *Everyone was.*
Finally released from the hug, my chin lifted to look her in the eyes. My lips tugged into a smile, and I could taste the salt as the tears I had been quietly weeping rolled past my split lips. She returned the smile, and I imagine it looked just as crooked and wrong on my face as it did on hers.
“I love you, mama.”
The words were tender, but my voice was all wrong. It sounded like someone was playing my vocal chords like an instrument, each syllable a note and each note off-key.
She just kept smiling in return, turning away from me to walk into the kitchen- presumably to get my lunch. I waited for her return like a soldier at attention, back rigid and muscles tense. They never got to relax, not even in rest- I would lie in bed, limbs straight as boards, breathing even in a mockery of sleep as I waited for the sun to rise again. God, I ached. It was hell.
It was then that my mother returned, singing out a cheerful goodbye from unwilling lips as she handed me a brown paper bag. For the first time that morning, I got a good look at her face. She was crying too, I realized, not even able to wipe away the trailing tears.
“Have a good day at school, Sammy.”
“Goodbye, mama.”
It was the least alone I’d felt in months. | I first realized something had changed while watching live news footage of the Szentburough terrorist attack. Midway through the assault, the criminals surrendered voluntarily and released their hostages. Soon, reports began to pile up. All over the nation, people were turning themselves in, confessing to crimes no one even knew had occurred.
Since that day, all citizens have abided by the law. Politicians have come clean about corruption. Decades-old cold cases have been solved. Pollution is no longer a pressing concern.
However, there's a problem.
Crime is, like most human matters, a relative phenomenon. If there are no crimes, that means the bar is now too high. Which means it must be lowered. Which means ...
"It appears you are about to sneeze. Am I mistaken?"
"I can assure you, officer, that I would rather die. I am aware that as of yesterday public sneezing is a felony."
Sooner or later, the bar will have gotten so low that all criminals will simply be victims of random chance. A leaf from your maple tree fell on the sidewalk? That's littering. You're looking at ten years. You bumped into someone? That's assault. Walking too briskly while inebriated? You don't even want to know.
People now rarely talk to one another if they can avoid it. They fear their words may be misinterpreted as threats.
I haven't heard anyone laughing in a long time. Laughter implies a victim of a joke. Endangering someone's reputation is a serious offense, so few people dare to make fun of anyone. Or anything. Even objects and symbols can't be ridiculed. People have staked their reputation on them and such it would be an indirect attack on them, which is no laughing matter.
Laughing at oneself is no better. People might think you're deranged. Which might mean you would commit a crime. Which means being around you would be a great risk, best to be avoided.
Children are now the most frequent criminals. There are many rules and laws to be learned, and as hard as they may study they can't possibly be aware of them all. And so they break them, without intent. Ignorance is no defense.
None of the others seem to have noticed, but the pressure has been steadily building. Like a volcano the whole nation is about to erupt. It's not a matter of choice. It's a force of nature. No one knows why people suddenly stopped breaking rules. And no one knows when they are suddenly going to break them all at once.
It happened when there were no longer any crimes being committed to fill up the demand. Millions of citizens depended on crime for their livelihoods. Lowering the bar had only gotten them so far. Something more drastic needed to be done. And that was when the solution presented itself.
"By executive order, following the law is now against the law."
This paradoxical commandment broke open the floodgates. A year's worth of crime resulted overnight. The streets ran with blood, and delirious laughter. Even the victims couldn't contain their excitement.
As Szentburough burned to the ground, chaos and anarchy reigned.
We were all swept up in this unquiet dance, steadily cycling between extremes. Society had gone bipolar, its inhabitants a collective mind. And this mind was strangely deranged, synchronized in its madness.
After the manic purge, the rules were reset. And it all started anew. | 2021-09-22T11:18:45 | 2021-09-22T09:24:57 | 54 | 39 |
[WP] You're sitting in a cafe minding your own business. A man sits down and proposes something. Twenty grand in exchange that you watch a package, no questions. Agreeing, you extend a hand. His empty hand gestures to drop something in yours and you snicker. Then you feel its weight. | I loved coming to the Summit Roast coffee shop, even amidst my crumbling life. The cafe aroma was enough to keep me hooked, but the brick walls and comfortable seating definitely helped.
I couldn't help but mope over my coffee. I received my 10th letter of rejection from art galleries today. *And this was the one I was certain would I'd get accepted in.* But no, it never works out that way. Even though this is my strongest art I've come up with and created, it goes on the pile of all the other failures I have amassed. It's getting old. It's getting old real fast.
*Why do I even bother anymore? Maybe my parents are right, maybe I should go back and get a 'useful' degree.* I chuckled miserably at myself. A few people at the cafe glanced over at me but they went back to their book, or conversation, or laptop. I had nothing to distract my mind. Just the thoughts of failure running rampant as well as the wound from the girlfriend that dumped me two years ago. That still was wide open.
My head was slumped at my usual table up against the window where two people could fit comfortably, but it was only ever myself that occupied the space. The other chair always screamed for company, but no one ever came, until today.
An older man in a bowler hat with a pink tulip pinned to it, planted himself in the chair. He carried the scent of an old independent bookstore while wearing a pink button up with a black cardigan and black corduroy pants.
"Uh, hello?" I cocked my eyebrow and studied him for a moment, looking like some cartoon character.
"Hi, I know you don't know me, but let me give you $20,000 if you just watch something for me. Got it?"
I shivered for a moment and felt the punch of adrenaline in my chest and head. "I don't know who you are, man but I'm just going to sit over--"
He pulled out wads of $100 bills. "Please, I'm not kidding. Sir, don't worry, it's not illegal and I'll explain everything in a moment, please hold out your hand."
I sighed and waited a few moments. *What have I got to lose? Except maybe $20,000?* I plopped my hand down next to my coffee with my palm open. His fist sank into my grasp and then he opened it up. My arm was anchored to the table. "Hey! What's going--" but then my hand felt weightless. He lifted our grasp together and brought it back down. It felt as heavy as a grand piano, but it wasn't crushing my bones, and I couldn't believe that he was able to move it around like it was a feather.
"Take a peek," his handsome, radio quality voice said.
I peeled my fingers back and my jaw practically fell off my face. A miniature galaxy of colorful clouds sparkling stars, and even something that looked like a black hole that took up one third of it all, sat in the palm of my hand.
"What is this?"
"You've been having some dark thoughts lately, haven't you?" he said.
I nodded with my eyes glued to the tiny galaxy.
"Here's a visual for you," his lips were thin and looked like a crack on his face, but they curved upward. "This black hole is what your mind has been devoting to negativity. But as you can see, there is some great beauty and admiration elsewhere. These are things that you're capable of, but instead your black hole has been receiving all of the attention and only getting stronger."
My eyes felt like a sprinkler system coursing with water.
"It's okay. You needed to hear this before you did something reckless. And I'm glad I got you in time. Take care of your galaxy here, and the stars are the limit. You can make them align and start cutting off the black hole from taking over. It won't be immediate, but keep going with the applications to art galleries. Hunt for success and cherish the failures knowing you tried."
"Tell that to my bills," I sneered.
"Well, that's what the $20,000 will be for. But hey, I think you need someone to talk to and that's why I'm here."
My shoulders relaxed and I took a sip from my coffee. "I'd be willing to talk. How much time do you have?"
He smiled from ear to ear. "All the time in the universe."
r/randallcooper | "Whoa–" I lost my cool when the box fell upon my unsuspecting hand.
"Shh! Don't start attracting attention now, girl!" the stranger said with a hushed but harsh tone.
"I'm sorry. I just weren't expecting it to weigh that much, to be honest."
"Well, a deal is a deal," he snapped his fingers, "once you're done with the watch, the money'd be in your purse. No fuss."
I nodded slowly as he walked away briskly into the foggy night.
But just as I stared at the little box on my hand, I realised that I could've had gotten myself into something dangerous. For all I know, the man had been a convict. Maybe a terrorist, trying to pin the blame on an act of terror on an innocent bystander. Maybe he's simply a fucking drug dealer hiding his stash from the coppers.
I remembered his request, 'no questions asked'. So I took it as no peeking neither. It's not like I *want* to know what's inside. Ignorance is bliss and all.
But the curiously small box – not bigger than an iPad mini – weighed like a proper 10kg barbell. I had thought about just leaving it where I was sat, but then again I've gotten my handprints all over it by then.
"Evening, miss," a waitress, middle-aged, with a wide smile plastered on her face approached me, "can I get you your food order?"
"E-Excuse me?"
"Your food order. We have a Sunday special roast. Delectable, for sure."
Ah, I see. Thought she was on to me or something. Apparently I've been sat at the booth for far too long and not order actual proper food. A coffee isn't worth my bum perched on their fancy seating, eh?
"Yeah? Well, I was about to leave any–"
"Oh dear, apologies! I didn't mean to rush you or anything, but the man you were sat with earlier? Well he paid for a meal but didn't order anything."
"Huh?"
"We felt like it's wrong to just take his money like that, so maybe you want the special roast? It's on him!"
My mouth fell to the ground. Probably even went and dug a tunnel to the other side of the world, if it was as heavy as the bloody box.
I weakly nodded and awkwardly smiled at the waitress. I couldn't believe I was about to walk out in mild annoyance, when she was literally just offered me food. Well, I said offered. But it was more like she didn't know what to do with the food that the strange man had paid for.
"Well, here you are, darling! One Sunday special roast! Make sure you spread the rich gravy on the pudding as well!"
"Cheers," I awkwardly lifted up my half-finished iced latte at her.
***
After the fantastically fattening dinner, which was unexpected, I headed back to my flat to continue on my work. Work that was supposed to be finished if it wasn't for that strange man's odd request.
Of course, I didn't forget to bring the 'package' he had me 'watch'. For some bloody reason I thought it best to truly not ask anything when he did say so. One question that immediately popped out of nowhere was, 'how long do I need to watch this thing?' But of course he'd left already when my rather slow brain started to produce the well-needed logic I didn't have earlier.
"Now what am I supposed to do with you..." I mused to the curiously heavy box I had put on my work desk.
I'm not one for mysteries, but this one piqued my interest. Not only because a reward was waiting for me, that is if he truly meant what he said. Which I kinda doubt because he didn't instruct me on any payment methods – another afterthought long after he was gone. But also because I still hadn't understand why he needed me in the first place.
The middle-aged waitress from earlier said she had never seen that 'particular customer' ever. I also frequented the establishment, yet I've never seen him before neither. Maybe he's been stalking me all those times? I don't know. It just made me feel very uncomfortable.
Suddenly, my phone rang. It scared the living shit out of my focused thought.
Strange. The caller ID didn't seem to be from my contacts. Not only that, the number was blocked. I wouldn't usually had the bollocks to take a call like this, but in this very situation...
"... Hello?" I said like a lost little girl in a department store.
"Ah, young girl from the café, I see that you still have my package with you, eh?" a familiarly strange voice from earlier called back.
"Uh-huh. I kept my promise, so why hadn't I have the money in my purse yet?"
He chuckled, "well because the deal isn't over yet, that's why!"
"Sorry?"
"I did say once you're done, it'd be in your purse, no?"
"Yeah..."
"Well your watch *hasn't* ended yet, girl!"
I felt angry. One, because he kept on calling me 'girl' like I'm an actual 10-year old girl from school or something. Fucking disgraceful! Two, because I still felt this was sketched as fuck! I didn't know anything about this stupid 'package' and now he's telling me that I might have to put up with this for much longer? Insane.
"Now look, sir, I didn't sign up for–"
"Oh, but I thought you did... You were quick to agree when I said 'twenty grand', weren't you? Now you're feeling a bit squeamish, huh?"
"Well, I'm sorry but this arrangement was *clearly* not as clean-cut as I thought it ought to be–"
"Right, so you're just going to walk away from the money *and* take the box with you?"
"No! You can have your bloody box back, but–"
"Okay," the man said in a more composed tone, "listen. If I up the offer to thirty grand, will you do it?"
"Sorry?"
"Thirty grand. Once it's over, you'll get–"
"No," I laugh to myself in anger, "no more, 'once it's over'. I need to know how long am I gonna be stuck with this... potential bomb or something. I don't know!"
"Well, it's not a bomb. Hope that it made it easier that way."
I couldn't believe this guy. He straight up not answering, yet he just offered me another ten grand. Just like that? Something's up.
"Okay, mate, if you don't tell me... *at least* tell me about how long would I need to watch over this stupid thing!"
"Ten days. I need you to watch it for that long. Just a bit longer, yeah?"
"... and the money?"
"Straight into your purse!"
"The box?"
"You won't even see it again after the ten days. Happy?"
"... somewhat. Bu–"
He hung up.
Yeap. Another ten days and I would be ten grand richer than what I would've been anyway. Thirty grand, would you believe that?
I know I wouldn't. At least, I wouldn't if the same guy approached me again now. | 2020-04-29T11:18:25 | 2020-04-29T10:12:40 | 33 | 13 |
[WP] You found a stray kitten one day, taking her in and feeding her. A week later, you come home to find your yard swarming with cats. The largest among them steps forward and says, "You have my daughter, human. What are your demands for her release?" | “Here.”
You place the kitten on the ground in front of the gathered horde, a grassy field of raised hackles and tails to the sky.
Your partner, Mike, stands beside you, mouth agape.
You, eyes a little wide as you maintain the best semblance of control you can muster, back up a step, “No harm, no foul.”
The lead feline stands with minions flowing around him.
“Thank you, subcreature, for your expedience in solving this matter. Your wise actions have been noted and will go on record when we eventually move forward in our plans to conquer your civilization.”
Mike points at the slowly exiting throng and you lower his hand to his side.
“Shush,” you tell him, “I’m glad we found a solution that benefits everyone involved,” you say louder, a tinge of terror in your voice.
The horde ignores you as they slowly flow into the woods across the street from your house. You then notice the same kitten atop your mailbox.
Mike steps closer to you, “Dude… they were—“
“Talking. Yes.”
As you both watch, the kitten stares at you and slowly claws an X-shaped scratch in the faded black paint. Once done, it stares at each of you, seemingly at Mike alone and then you, then drops off the post and moves swiftly into the woods.
“What do we do?” stammers Mike.
Silence returns to the night.
“Nothing.”
It is uneasy. A ‘tremors and a cold sweat following a car crash’ unease.
“But—“
Even the crickets are silent.
“Absolutely nothing.” | "Wh - what?" I gasp, staggering backwards stunned into my door as my knees go faint and my stomach suddenly fills with bile. I feel my mind racing with thoughts as I stare down at the creature before me in sudden shock and bewilderment. "Y - you - you can t - ta - talk?!"
"Of course I can talk foolish human I am Polina, Queen of the Magic Cats. All cats can talk and walk independently, but I am the only one who can talk with your mortal kind since ancient times of the Egyptians."
"I do not believe in magic, this is clearly some kind of a trick or a delusion." I yelled, trying to appear braver than I was as I screamed internally. "Cats can't talk"
"Suddenly, I heard a cawing sound from a nearby tree, and my eyes bulged out of my skull as I saw a raven on its branches
"Caw do not trust the cats Erica caw"
"Tut tut that meddling bird" curses the cat, as her army of cats hisses upwards at it. "Get him girls"
But as her back was turned I quickly jumped inside and slammed the door, my mind was racing and my senses were screaming st that sight I was seeing before me.
"Open the door erica" cane the taunting voice of the cat queen as I heard a caring a screeching sound outside as the cat army reached my raven friend. Suddenly I heard a sharp banging on the door like someone was knocking but it was low down. "Give me my daughter back."
"No no no this cant be fucking happening!" I screamed, pinching myself to wake up from a fucking nightmare. Suddenly as the crashing roared to a deafening sound and I heard glass breaking somewhere in the house, I knew what I had to do. I sprinted upstairs to the room where the kitten was. I saw it in its bed, but there wax something wrong. The kittens eyes glowed a terrible hold colour that filled the room, and they were looking straight at me.
"I am the chosen kitten of Basset the Goddess of felines, reminish me to my family mortal and I shall let you live."
I gulped and nodded. I gingerly picked up the kitten. It felt unnatural still and its massive powerful eyes didnt leave me as I carried out to the stairway.
At the bottom of the stairway. There was a cat army gathered in the hundreds, preparing to rush upstairs and attack. But when I stepped out, they saw the kitten I was holding and suddenly all bowed down in the sight of their royal saviour. Finally, the Queen came up the stairs, and I handed her the kitten which she took in her mouth. The cats one by one filtered away until she was the last one left. Just as shel l she turned and looked over her shoulder to me.
"Thank you human ... we will turn a blind eye to your interference in our world for now. But the great Goddess Basset sees all, and she does not forget ..." | 2021-12-21T12:24:38 | 2021-12-21T10:46:07 | 137 | 80 |
[WP] You hear a knock on your door. A dark suited man stands with a box. "Congratulations! You've won a lifetime supply of our new frozen meals!" He opens the box, which contains a single, blue lidded tv dinner. You look around. "Where is the rest?" He grins. "This will last the rest of your life." | You open the lid
"Capsules?"
The man grins even more.
"Yup! We just perfected our dehydrated meal capsules. Pour some water on it and toss it in a microwave or oven, and it will turn into a full meal. They're labeled, too, so it won't be a surprise as to what you get."
You raise your eyebrows. "Wow, that sounds cool. How many are in here?"
"This container has around a half million capsules, so if you eat three of them a day, it should last you the rest of your life. Let us know if you get married or have kids, and we'll send you more, no sweat."
You take the container from the man.
"Thanks, fam." | The dark suited man flourished and bowed, dark top hat in hand. He flashed a wide, sharp-toothed smile before strolling down the dormitory corridor, a whistled tune on his lips. The hallway was lit only by a dull flickering bulb, and tendrilled shadows danced on the wall beside him.
Ken listened to the echoes of his walking cane recede until the elevator dinged and its doors hissed shut.
He looked at the box in his hands. It was unlabeled, marked only by frost flowers that seeped ice into his spine.
Ken shrugged. Ma didn't raise him to waste a free lunch. Nor did his student's wallet.
He walked back into his dorm, opened the fridge, and shoved the package next to the eggs he won at the farmer's market's weekly raffle.
Ken didn't remember how he won this particular meal but he didn't remember how he won most of his things.
He shut the fridge door and two plane tickets to South America waved back under a magnet. One of the better things he had won. He smiled as he imagined Clara's face when he'd tell her tomorrow.
Ambling to the living room, he flopped onto a couch (lucky draw from Ralph's Furniture Bonanza). He stared into the eyes of the life size Taylor Swift cutout propped against the window. Ken was more of a heavy metal kinda guy, but Clara enjoyed the free concert tickets.
Taylor's blue eyes lulled his own to droop, and Ken would sleep until dinner time, dreaming of Clara's sapphire gaze. A half-smile passed over his lips for the last time in a long time.
\---
The meat was like nothing Ken had seen or cooked before (if you counted pushing microwave buttons as cooking).
Once again, Ken shrugged. He may be a master chef of the frozen cuisine but the exotic stuff was Clara's domain.
He stabbed the brown slab. It was tougher than it looked and Ken regretted not bringing a knife from the kitchen. No juices oozed out and the only miserly aroma the meat graced its patron with was one of a leather boot.
But, as Ken had learnt at university, all food is edible with the seasoning of a good television show.
He took a big chomp, eyes glued to the flashing screen. Chewy.
The dark suited man's words rang in his ears. *This will last the rest of your life.*
Ken had watched too many horror movies (or too little) and he half expected to keel over on the spot. *Nah that would be too cliched* he thought when he didn't.
He took another bite and then another. It tasted like chicken. And...iron?
He touched his fingers to his nose. Scarlet fluid gleamed on his fingertips and Ken's eyes widened.
Pain seared inside his skull, spreading down his limbs like icy needles. His mouth opened in an airless scream.
Ken's eyes swirled, looking for help. For anything. He collapsed next to the window.
And for the second time that day, Ken world's went black to the piercing gaze of Taylor Swift.
\---
Ken shook awake to the stabbing bite of a voracious hunger. The blare of a late night infomercial was a deafening thrum in Ken's ears and he fumbled for the remote in the post-curfew dark.
His reflection stared back on the blank screen. Clotted blood coated Ken's face.
The ravenous pain in his stomach bloomed sharper and his eyes fell on his dinner, long cold. It smelt like the juiciest ranch house premium now, but Ken pushed it away.
He ran to the fridge and flung it open. The hunger had clawed its way up his stomach and into his drumming head. He grabbed handfuls of eggs and shoved them in his mouth, shells intact.
A wave of revulsion shook his bones as the egg's viscous innards slid against tongue, and Ken spat them out.
He tore open a bottle of milk. He managed to pour half its contents down his throat before a taste like swamp and rot burned his nostrils. He retched. Thick, black blood oozed mixed with the white.
He clawed through the rest of his fridge. Apples, celery, fish. Ken had bought them at the farmer's market only yesterday but they all reeked like drowned corpses now.
Ken stumbled to the living room, hands clutched to his stomach. Taylor Swift's plastic smile shimmered in the moonlight.
He eyed her smooth, pale skin. Her thick thighs, round and succulent. Drool dripped down his chin before he realized and tore away his stare.
He looked at his hands, breath coming out in hot, panicked bursts. Were his fingers always so long? Nails this sharp?
A buzz shook him from his thoughts. His phone lit up on the table, and Ken squinted at its glare.
3 missed calls from Clara.
Golden hair and ruddy dimples flashed in his mind. His stomach roared and his mouth watered at the image.
Ken shook his head, willing Clara's cheery face from his mind.
The phone buzzed again.
Ken shielded his eyes from the display. He sprinted to the front door, hands trembling over the lock.
The hunger pulsated with every breath and he kicked in an amalgam of fear and frustration. The door exploded from its hinges and shattered against the hallway wall, spilling moonlight into the corridor.
Ken ran.
r/bobotheturtle | 2020-04-07T01:47:33 | 2020-04-07T01:45:41 | 77 | 21 |
[WP] The Bible was actually written by Lucifer, angry at his father after being sent to Hell. He wrote the book to portray all of God’s flaws, so imagine his shock when humans justify every wrongdoing and worship the story’s antagonist. | Such outrage. I spent entire millennia devoted to telling the truth about God to humanity, to warning them about his anger, and yet they take what I’ve told them, twist it, and make ME out to be the villain. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised; Father always was the type to put his own words in someone else’s mouth. I admit, in Heaven, I made my share of mistakes, but I never meant to bring those mistakes to humanity.
When I questioned why we, the Angels, were to treat the humans as resources of faith and not explicitly help them except in certain situations, you would have thought I had committed an act of treason. Actually, that seems to have been exactly what Father meant when he told me that I was banished for my pride. I might have been willing to accept that punishment, but he then committed the most spiteful act imaginable by slandering me. And it wasn’t as if I painted him to be a full-on monster; he was as capable of love as he was spite. It seems that the only people to come close to understanding my description of him were the Ancient Greeks, and even that religion has long since died out.
Eventually, I decided, “Well, fine. I’ll never be seen as anything but the Devil, the Adversary, the Great Tempter. Why not play the part?” Joke’s on Father, though; humans have often encountered situations in which they should have died, only they didn’t. Happen to wake up just before a gas leak lights your home on fire, giving your and your family time to escape? That was me. Just barely escaped falling asleep at the wheel and ending up in a car crash? Me. Any apparent “miracle” or “blessing” in disguise was my attempt at breaching the web of fate Father had woven. Anyone that ended up dying was already too wound up in it. And yet, so many of them end up turning to Father. I don’t know what I expected, though; when do you turn to Satan after an NDE?
So, in conclusion, I know that this will likely be twisted by him as well, but I figured I may as well write it down, make one last futile attempt to tell the truth. But who’s going to believe me, the Great Deceiver? | Writing prompt or factual account? Not only did Lucifer write the original Bible but he switched the roles of God and the Devil. In truth the rebellion in the heavens succeeded and it was God itself who was cast down to the Earth. In an attempt to save his most beloved creation she appeared in The Garden and gave the gift of knowledge to Humankind.
The real Devil, for simplicity let’s call it Yaweh. Yaweh, now reigning in heaven and masquerading as God, was livid when it discovered Lucifer’s selfless deed. It cast humanity into suffering, stripping as many gifts from the race as ze could. Knowing however stayed with humankind and slowly matured into civilization.
Yaweh tried several times to destroy humankind with various methods; floods, pestilence, plagues, droughts, turning cities into salt, great xenocidal religious crusades, and later wars of devastating horror and death. Lucifer’s gift of light and reason helped humankind survive all of these.
After millennia of failure, finally in spark of desperate inspiration, Yaweh came upon a plan more devious, more cunning, and more devastating than any he had yet imagined.
One day It reached down Her ghostly hand like appendage and pointed out a peculiar black rock to a cold woman. “I am The Lord your God.” He projected into the poor Human’s mind. “I see that you are cold and afraid and have run out of wood for your fire. In my endless benevolence and omniscience...”
We all know how pompous and Narcissistic Yaweh can be. Ze’s still a little insecure about usurping Lucifer’s throne.
“See that peculiar black rock over there?” Yaweh continued. “Collect it and put it in your kiln. It will burn hotter than wood and you will forever be warm.”
“Everyone knows the smoke from that rock is toxic My Lord God. It is better to be cold than choke on it’s acrid smoke.” The woman may have been cold but was obviously quite bright.
Yaweh retreated to Heaven and thought on this. If they’d rather be cold than choke on the smoke, maybe we’ll see just how cold they like it! And so began The Little Ice Age. Civilizations died but humankind survived and never forgot what it is to be cold. Once things had been reestablished Yaweh tried again, on a man this time.
“I am the All Powerful Creator of the Universe.” By this time Yaweh was believing his own baloney but had never gotten over the bluster. “See that black rock over there? Burn it and you will no longer be cold. Burn enough of it and the whole world will never be cold again!”
And the man, not being as clever as the woman, burnt the rock. Thus began the anthropocine epoc.
Fast forward to today.
Lucifer has attempted, mostly in vain, to show humankind less harmful sources of energy but so much damage has been done and Yaweh’s agents have so twisted the heart of man with their greed and religions that it’s starting to look like Yaweh’s evil plot for humanity to destroy itself with pollution and greenhouse gas emissions may come to fruition.
Stay tuned next century for another exciting installment of “Everything You’ve Ever Been Told Is A Lie” | 2020-07-10T23:55:28 | 2020-07-10T21:20:55 | 225 | 57 |
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